


Tango

by MrBenzedrine89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy, Dirty Talk, F/M, Humor, Oral Sex, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sex, Slow Burn, Tango, Vaginal Fingering, dance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:45:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 138,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9169237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrBenzedrine89/pseuds/MrBenzedrine89
Summary: A slow burn fic about Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy taking dance lessons to learn the Tango. As the comedy builds, so does the tension -too bad Draco's set to marry Astoria. Dramione. WIP. **WINNER: BEST ROMANCE 2017 Dramione Awards / WINNER: BEST LOVE STORY 2017 SUMMER ENCHANTED AWARDS / WINNER: BEST RELATIONSHIP DEVELOPMENT 2017 SUMMER ENCHANTED AWARDS**





	1. Chapter 1

 

****

**Hello, and welcome to Tango.**  
**I've had this story in my head since August, and I couldn't resist bringing it with me to the new year.**  
**This is looking to be a sensual/comedy/slow burn fic, much like Sex Ed, but much more slow burn. Hope you all enjoy it.**

 **Tango**  
**Hermione/Draco**  
**Rated M for language and later chapters**  
**Summary: A slow burn fic about Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy taking dance lessons to learn the Tango. As the comedy builds, so does the tension -too bad Draco's set to marry Astoria. Dramione. WIP.**  
**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I will not make a profit from this story.**

**Thank you to waymay for editing, and to the lovely LightofEvolution for believing in this story! She has a lovely one-shot she made for me recently titled: "Double, Double, Toil and Trouble" you should check out. Hermione/Harry/Draco and so much fun!**

* * *

**Life is like a tango.. sad, sensual, sexy, violent, and quiet.  
~Unknown.**

* * *

"I swear on Merlin's grave himself, Malfoy, if you won't keep time, I won't bother with walking you through the steps."

"That's rich, coming from someone with two matching feet so left she must have spelled them that way."

"Is that your best insult? I'm mildly disappointed."

Draco Malfoy stopped mid-stride, his hand curling tighter around Hermione Granger's waist. "I'm sure you're quite used to disappointment, Granger. After all, if I woke up with that atrocious nest you call hair -OW!"

"Terribly sorry," she smirked. "Those two left feet, you know…"

"I could easily transfer them into fins. You could swim with the rest of the muddy filth -Ah, fuck it all, Granger!" Draco released her, hobbling back while wincing as his left foot throbbed in pain. "Easy on the merchandise!"

"Merchandise?" Hermione laughed, placing her hands on her hips. "You're not a shipment of sugar quills. Now," she reset herself across the dancefloor and offered out her hand, "Are you ready to go again?"

* * *

**Stage Right: Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley  
Setting: Al-Qarawiyyin library, Morocco**

* * *

Hermione Granger, for all intents and purposes, felt truly satisfied with her life. Staring up at the marble pillars of the world's most ancient muggle library did wonders for her soul. Most times, her life felt void of purpose, but practically drooling over ancient scripts and tomes set a fire in her soul she didn't realize she was missing. She caught the amused grin of Ginny Weasley standing next to her, clicking pictures with her camera every few feet or so as they traveled by each and every shelf.

"Alright there?" the redhead teased, turning her camera on Hermione and snapping a quick photo as her friend's fingers graced along the backs of leatherbound books eye level with her. Blushing, the brunette placed a hand out in front of the lens.

"Entranced is all." Hermione reached into her pockets and pulled out a small, black notebook decorated in swirling script along with a simple pen. She flipped through the pages, found the line she was looking for, and slashed through with a long stroke, grinning ear to ear. "Another check off the list." Quickly, she stowed the contents back into her pockets and flashed her friend a healthy smile. "Thank you for coming, Ginny."

"Of course," her friend replied, giving the photography a rest (for now). "We've been working on this list for nearly two years. I'm not about to give up on it now."

While it was true the girls had begun their own bucket list two years ago, it still baffled Hermione how committed Ginny was at seeing it through till the very end. Perhaps it was because Ginny knew her time as a bachelorette was nearing an end; her and Harry had become fairly serious in the last few years, and it was no secret wedding bells would soon be ringing (though, only if Harry popped the question. Which he seemed to be failing at every given chance.) Either way, soon, the dynamic feminine duo would have to tie their roots down: Ginny, with Harry and her career as a newly professional Quidditch seeker for the Harpies, and Hermione with her continued education in the autumn to help build onto her growing empire of Magical Creatures Rights at the Ministry. This summer was, quite possibly, their last free stretch to complete as many details on their lists as possible.

As if to mirror the thoughts fluttering through Hermione's head, Ginny also pulled out a small notebook, though hers was a fire engine red, and said, "Right. How many do you have left on yours?"

"Four," Hermione replied triumphantly. "Although, two of them are a bit… personal. I highly doubt you'd be able to help me with them."

Ginny cast a wicked smile in response and smacked her friend on the shoulder, "Hermione Granger! So naughty!"

"Not naughty. Pure curiosity is all… and," she blushed, "perhaps a bit of naughtiness."

Both women laughed as Ginny smiled down at hers. "Well… I only have two."

"Go on, then! Don't leave me guessing."

"Alright. But you have to promise not to laugh."

"Would I?"

Ginny shot Hermione a look that said 'you just might' and replied, "Here it goes, then. The first one is to… to have sex in a car."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, soaking in her friend's words. While she very much wanted to do exactly what Ginny dreaded and laugh her bloody arse off, she instead stifled it and replied in her most casual tone, "Well, I suppose, since Harry doesn't have a car of his own, you could borrow mine-" Ginny's eyes lit up in excitement, "-But you must sanitize it after! Are we clear?"

"Absolutely!" The redhead flung her arms around Hermione and hugged her tight. "Oh, thank you, Hermione! You're such a pip!"

"Yes, I'm going to allow two of my best friends to fornicate in my vehicle. I'm _such_ a pip." Her voice oozed with playful sarcasm as she pried Ginny off of her. "Well, one of us should finish our list by the end of the summer. What's the final task, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny licked her bottom lip and shook a finger at Hermione. "Before I tell you, you have to promise, no matter what it is, you'll do it with me."

"It's nothing sexual, is it?"

"No."

Hermione thought about it. "Alright. I'm feeling adventurous. I swear, on the stake of all my books, whatever it is, I will see it through to the end with you and help you complete your bucket list."

"Wonderful! Because I've already signed us up for classes starting next week."

Classes? Oh, well that didn't sound so terrible. "Classes? For what? Runes? History? Magical scuba diving?"

"Better. We're going to learn how to," Ginny struck a dramatic pose, "dance the Tango!"

Hermione's mouth fell slack. Her palms grew sweaty, and her head became light. "Oh." She blinked. " _Oh_."

"That better be the 'ohs' of 'Hell-yes!'" Ginny exclaimed.

"Gin… I have two left feet. You know this."

"So?" she shrugged. "I'm not exactly a ballerina myself, but this is the one thing I want to learn."

" _Why_?" Hermione was utterly perplexed.

"I wasn't aware I needed a reason," Ginny whined. "Come on. You promised."

"Yes, but I'll be rubbish."

"What are you talking about? You went to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum!"

"A dance at a school ball is nothing compared to the complicated procedure that is the Tango." Hermione crossed her arms. "I'll compensate you whatever money you've already spent. But-"

"-I never thought I'd see the day Hermione Granger decided she wasn't capable of something."

"-Not capable? Of course I'm capable," she could feel her Gryffindor pride awakening from its slumber. "I simply have no want to throw myself into something-"

"-You know you'll be no good at. Yes. I get it now."

"Oh, for the love of house elves." Hermione glared. " _Fine_ , Ginerva Weasley. Have it your way. We're learning to Tango." She ignored her friend's conquering grin and pushed on deeper into the bowels of the library. Ginny wanted her to Tango? Fine. She'd be the best damn Tango dancer in Britain. After all, how difficult could it actually be?

* * *

**Stage Left: Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass  
Setting: The Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

* * *

The entire world should have taken pity on Draco Malfoy, because, at the moment, he found himself staring at three different shades of white at his dining room table, a crease between his eyebrows. Three 'different' shades of white, and yet they looked all the same to him. He could feel his bride-to-be's eyes fixed on the back of his head, awaiting an answer.

Finally, Astoria grew tired of waiting. "Draco," she huffed, "Which one?"

Next to the three swatches was a pale shade of green with 'Mint' scribbled at the bottom. His task was simple enough from an outside perspective: choose a shade of white he thought matched best with the green selected as the frontrunner of their wedding colors. But for the life of him, he couldn't find a bloody difference in the whites to save his life. Maybe the last one looked a bit yellow? He wasn't sure how to answer, so he pointed to that one, hoping his answer would do. "This one?"

 _Clack, clack, clack_ went Astoria's heels as she crossed the floor and sat down beside him, giving him a baffled glare. "Seriously, Draco? That will never do."

Draco loved Astoria -truly he did, but his patience had worn thin. "If you didn't like it to begin with, perhaps it shouldn't have been an option?"

There was a knock at the front door, and he gave a heavy sigh of relief. That was, until he noticed who paraded in on his Monday morning with her entourage of bumbling buffoons. Madame Mystique was supposed to be the most coveted wedding planner in Europe, but all Draco coveted was some goddamn peace and quiet every time she intruded in on his free time as if she were his personal nanny. She told him how to dress, how to present himself, and the wedding was still six bloody months away. Merlin, if he never heard the terms 'wedding party' and 'floral arrangements' again, it would be too soon.

As if to mock his irritating mood, the plump witch wore a plumed feather hat, which held absolutely no sense of fashion whatsoever. Dramatic as always, her silver hair fell in curls beyond her shoulders, and her robes were a bright, vibrant pink. With a flick of her wand, she unloaded a thick briefcase on top of the table. Pictures of flowers, utensils, cakes, guest lists, shoes, hairstyles… anything one could think of when vomiting an expensive wedding could be found atop the table, overlapping the several shades of white.

Needless to say, Draco felt overwhelmed.

Madame Mystique began to ask questions, as per the usual daily routine, catching his attention. "'Allo, Malfoy family! 'Ave you done your 'omework and selected a shade of white for me?"

"We were just in the middle of that, actually," said Astoria, folding her hand neatly over Draco's. "We've decided to go with the porcelain."

"We have?" asked Draco, raising his head.

"Yes."

"Wonderful. I wish you would have told me that _two hours_ ago…"

"Très magnifique!" Madame Mystique clapped her hands together. "Shall we move on to today's planning?"

"Let's," said Astoria.

It was about this time that Draco began to 'zone out' as his friends would say, staring off at nothing in particular as Astoria neatly answered each and every question in Madame Mystique's arsenal. He sat quietly with his arms folded in his lap, thinking. Merlin, he cared for Astoria, but all of this was a bit much. He loved being the center of attention, yes, but after the War, all Draco Malfoy wanted to do was stay private. All of the elaborateness... The showmanship… he'd gotten over things like that long ago.

"What do you think, Draco?" Astoria asked, shattering his train of thought.

"Hmm?"

"About our first dance?"

" _Dance_?" he squeaked out.

"Well, of course!" said Madam Mystique. "A couple's first dance is ze pivotal moment of any reception!"

"Yes! I was thinking something of a Tango. Such a sensual dance. Wouldn't you agree, Draco?"

Terrified. That's the way Draco Malfoy felt in the moment. He didn't want to dance. He had never been much good at it, even when his mother spent a fortune on lessons for him as a child. About all he could accomplish was a Waltz, and even then it was messy. Fucking Hell, why hadn't he thought about a dance before he decided to propose? It might have swayed his decision… Especially since Astoria was loads better than him already, with the graceful elegance of a swan.

"It's settled!" Astoria exclaimed before he had the chance to answer. "A Tango!"

"-Wait-"

"Wonderful," said Madame Mystique, "I shall refer you to ze best instructor I know! Lessons could begin as early as next week! I assure you, Señor Diggle is simply ze best! He has ze capability of turning anyone," her eyes drifted over Draco's nervous form, "into a fine dancer. I can promise you zat."

Draco snorted a laugh and excused himself to the loo. He didn't give two shites about dancing. If Astoria wanted him to; he would. After all, that's what a husband-to-be did. But he refused -absolutely _refused_ -to enjoy it.

* * *

 **Please feel free to leave your thoughts! Shall update soon!**  
**With love,**  
**~A.**


	2. Best Foot Forward

****

 

**Oh my goodness gracious! The turnout for this fic from the preface is simply stunning. I can't tell you how warm all of the support makes me, and I hope all of you stick around for the fun!**

**Much love to waymay for the editing. She's feeling better, so yay! (hearts)**

**Onwards!**

* * *

**Dance is the only art in which we ourselves are the stuff in which it is made.  
-Ted Shawn.**

* * *

**Stage Right: Hermione and Ginny**   
**Setting: Hermione's flat, downtown London**

* * *

Hermione stood in her bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. It wasn't the type of vanity looking over most women were known for; she simply wondered if her skirt was the correct length for dancing. She paid no attention to her frizzy hair or lack of makeup. Those type of things never did her much good academically, and she doubted they would prepare her to be a talented dancer now. She picked a speck of lint off of her white ruffled button up and smoothed down her pleated pencil skirt. Her shoes, a pair of flats, were quite in order. She'd read it would be best to take it easy on one's feet until growing used to the incline of heels.

As if to back her findings, piles upon piles of books greeted her as she stepped out of the hallway bathroom and into the den. They all held similar subjects, and could be guessed upon the titles: _Dancing and YOU!, Learn to Dance!, Dance it, Do it!, So you want to learn to dance?_ Each book held an array of proper information on formation, body posture, and technique. Hermione spent most of the evening last night pouring over each one in gruesome detail, attempting to soak up every bit of knowledge she could.

The floo lit to life beside her on schedule, and Ginny Weasley stepped through, eyes widened in surprise at the hoards of tomes around the vicinity. She gave a loud whistle and said, "Hermione, don't you think this is going a bit overboard?"

"Overboard?" Hermione flashed her friend a bemused look."You're the one who wanted me to learn how to dance. I'm simply doing what research I can."

"Research? Hermione, you can't learn to dance from reading a book. Dance comes… from your soul." Ginny proceeded to wiggle her shoulders and attempt a pirouette, stumbling into the recliner.

Hermione laughed. "Ginerva, I'm quite sure that _you_ could use these books a bit more than myself with that example."

Her friend stuck out her tongue, straightened the strap of her purse, which dangled from her shoulder, and wrapped an arm through Hermione's arm. "This will be fun for us. And who knows? Perhaps you can find yourself a handsome wizard to rub against in the process?"

"Don't make me laugh."

"Seriously, when was the last time you allowed yourself to go on a date with someone?"

"I've dated. I've dated plenty."

Ginny made a disapproving noise. "Ron doesn't count."

Hermione sighed. "Well, then I suppose I don't have a great track record, do I?"

The redhead smiled encouragingly, tugging her friend closer. "It was your idea to give you two a break to -how did you word it? Make sure that you two weren't jumping into a situation without," she did her best impression of the straight-laced-Granger, "exploring all of the variables and options the world had to offer?"

"Yes, well, getting married straight out of Hogwarts wasn't something I was interested in."

"And no one blames you for that, Hermione. But it's been three years, give or take, since Hogwarts. Maybe you could actually try living a little? Testing out some of those variables? You can't stay a cat lady forever."

" _Ha_!" Hermione exclaimed. "Shows what you know. I would make the perfect elderly cat lady. I just need a few more cats."

"And no sense of smell."

The witches laughed together, stepping through the floo.

* * *

**Stage Left: Draco Malfoy (and friend...?)**   
**Setting: The Malfoy Manor, Draco's bedroom.**

* * *

Draco gave a thick yawn, rolling over in his comfortable, king-sized bed. The sheets were still heavy with the scent of Astoria's perfume from the night before, and he peered through the slits of his eyes, expecting to find her next to him. What he found instead was a dark skinned, cunning man dressed in a pressed suit with his hands folded neatly behind his head, smirking inches from his face.

"Morning, sleepy head. Miss me?"

Draco groaned, yanking his pillow out from under him only to pull it over his head. Muffled, he replied, "What the Hell are you doing in my bed, Zabini?"

"Ah, come on! Is that any way to treat your best mate? I've only just arrived back from Italy -early, I might add, on your fiancee's orders."

"And you listened to her?"

"No," said Blaise Zabini with a chuckle, "I listened to her _sister's_ orders. You think Astoria's frightening? Try spending two weeks in Venice with Daphne. I guarantee you, you'd want to return home early as well."

"So the honeymoon was that bad, hmm?" Draco peered from under his pillow.

"I didn't say that," Blaise smirked. "The sex? Fan-fucking-tastic. The shopping? Ehh… not so much."

"Shopping?"

"Loads of it. Greengrass girls, apparently, have a sensational appetite for couture."

"I've noticed," Draco grumbled, sitting upright in his bed as she struggled to rub the sleep from his tired eyes. He'd already spent a fair share of his inheritance on this wedding, even though it was traditional for the bride's father to shovel out galleons for the event. "Why, pray tell, would Astoria ask you two back so early?"

"Something about dance lessons…?"

"Fuck, are those happening already?"

"Since we're your best man and matron of honor, I've come to learn we, as men, have no say in the matter. You know -like it was at my wedding."

"Couldn't even throw you a decent stag party with Daphne peering over my shoulder," stated Draco; his vision, finally, focused. "You just had to marry someone who knows all of our tricks, didn't you?"

"Let's name the ways in which it works: she's familiar. We grew up with her, so her knowing all of our tells isn't necessarily a bad thing. She's rich. Her family has status, and together we'll be able to produce 'highly potent magical children' for future generations."

"Sounds rehearsed."

"That's because it was. Straight quote courtesy of Mister Greengrass."

The men grinned at each other, and Draco rolled over, forgetting where he was in position to the edge of the bed. He fell off, landing with a _smack_ to the floor. His perfect face thudded with pain. "Oww…"

"How is it you manage to feign such poise in front of a crowd? You're useless behind closed doors."

"Years of practice," he replied, peeling himself up off the floor to stumble his way to his armoire. "Now get out of here. I need to change."

"Into your dancing shoes, yes?"

"Wait. It's _today_?" His eyes went wide.

Blaise gave a blasé sigh. "Thus why I'm _back_."

"Fuck it all… do me a favor. Go to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, grab up every box of puking pastilles, and then force feed them to me until it induces a coma."

"Would love to, mate, but then who would I have to make fun of during rehearsals?"

"Typical Zabini."

"Typical Malfoy, choosing one of the most elaborate dances for a fucking reception. The  
Tango? How pretentious could you get?"

"Astoria's idea."

"Ridiculous."

"Tell me about it."

"You must really love her."

Love. Yes, Draco supposed love was the reason he was subjecting himself to this kind of torture. He'd grown up with Astoria for most of his life; the Greengrasses came for summer visits, and he shared playdates with the Greengrass girls until Hogwarts. After the War, Astoria had been there to help Draco lick his wounds and hold it together during his family's trials. She was the beacon of light in his ever dimming world, and he never took it for granted. After all, it wasn't as if women were throwing themselves at his door to engage with a former Death Eater acquitted for being spineless. He appreciated the familiarity of Astoria much the way Blaise did Daphne. What other woman would be able to put up with his Slytherin guiles and still smile at the end of the day? Still, all of the frills and pureblood elitist traditions dimmed his mood like a cloud over an already fading sun. Happiness wasn't in his vocabulary on most days. Even with Astoria's cheerful disposition and sensational backside to keep him preoccupied.

"Any idea what we're supposed to wear?" he asked, fishing through his various robes.

"Haven't the foggiest. Something you could move in around in, I imagine."

Draco sighed. He wasn't sure he had anything that fit that criteria and that Madame Mystique would let him out of the house wearing.

There was a knock at the door.

"Are you boys decent?"

Blaise gave a sinful grin, calling out, "Draco, cut it out! I'm not in the mood for spooning!"

The door popped open, and in walked Daphne Greengrass with her hands on her hips. She wore a simple, flowing dress, accentuating her large breasts. Draco tried, with difficulty, not to stare as she said, "Oh, pooh. And here I was hoping it wasn't a bluff."

"Hey, love." Blaise stretched himself out on the bed, resembling a cat, before sauntering off of it and kissing his wife on the lips. "Ten galleons Malfoy falls flat on his face the first lesson."

Daphne trailed her eyes over to the blond in question, _tsk_ 'd, and said, "Twenty galleons he drops Astoria."

"You're on."

"Incorrigible, the both of you." Draco rolled his eyes. "Hello, Daphne," he drawled with oozing sarcasm, "So pleasant to see you. You're not looking _puffy_ at all."

A silence split the room into two different categories: Draco, and then his two friends.

"What? Why are you two giving me those looks?"

"You noticed I looked puffy?" Daphne asked carefully.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "It's called an insult." He noticed her hand absentmindedly touching her stomach, and the way Blaise's eyes traveled down to said hand. Then, it dawned on him. "You're _pregnant_?"

"I-I... " Daphne's mouth fell open, then snapped shut, then fell open again. She looked over to her husband, who rubbed the back of his head and shrugged.

"Looks like the kneazele's out of the bag, love."

"You can't tell a _soul_ ," she scolded at once, shaking a finger at Draco, who paled in confusion. "Do you hear me, Draco Malfoy?"

"What? Why not? Doesn't Astoria know?"

"No! And I plan on keeping it that way -for now."

Draco blinked. "Why?" he asked skeptically.

"I thought you were supposed to be an intelligent man. Do the math, Draco! Blaise and I have been gone less than a month! If my family puts two and two together, they'll find out the baby was conceived before the marriage!"

"So?"

"So," Blaise curled an arm around Daphne, "The Greengrasses are even more uptight than the Malfoys when it comes to traditions. Her father would hex my bits into oblivion."

"And Astoria can't help a juicy bit of gossip," Daphne added.

"Wouldn't your father just be pleased to know he has an heir?" asked Draco.

"But it's not a Greengrass heir, is it? He's already miffed at me for not marrying a member of the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight'. Could you imagine his uproar when he finds out I'm carrying Blaise's child before our honeymoon is even up? Word will get out, it will be all over the papers, and then I'll have 'shamed' my family."

"For having sex. With your husband." Draco gave them a 'really?' look and rolled his eyes. "So what do you plan to do? Hide the entire pregnancy?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"We just don't plan to announce it for a few more weeks is all. Give us time to 'conceive' and-"

"-In the meantime, you expect me to lie to Astoria. Perfect."

"Well, it isn't our fault you noticed my puffiness!" Daphne folded her arms.

"You could have lied and told me you were getting fat!"

"Greengrass woman do not get _fat_ , Draco."

"So can you do it?" asked Blaise seriously. "Keep our secret? I'd hate to have to obliviate you."

"You wouldn't dare," Draco scoffed, staring at his two friends. He gave an irritated sigh and nodded. "Alright. You've got me under wraps. But you best pray Astoria doesn't come to me asking my opinion on the matter of your weight, Daphne."

"Hmph." Daphne stuck her nose up in the air. "Thank you, Draco."

"Sure, sure. Now tell me -what the Hell do I wear to dance lessons with this Señor fancy-pants?"

"You don't mean Señor Diggle, do you?"

"Dingle?" laughed Blaise.

"Diggle," Daphne corrected. "He's only the wizarding world's most sought after, premier dance coach! Oh, I'm so excited!" She clapped her hands together. "In that case, you'll need to dress your best. Do you have any formal robes or…?"

"Bloody Hell."

* * *

**Center Stage: Ginny and Hermione**   
**Setting: Señor Diggle's private dance studio, (location: secret)**

* * *

Hermione and Ginny were the first to arrive inside the quiet dance studio, taking in the large marble flooring and candles floating every ten feet or so. Shaped like a square, the room held mirrors for each wall. Support beams lined the middle of the mirrors for stretching and practice. All in all, it looked rather cozy.

Hermione slipped her bag down off of her shoulder near the door, and Ginny did the same with her purse.

"This is beautiful," said the redhead in wonder, dashing to the middle of the floor and striking, what Hermione could only assume, was a dancing pose. "What do you think?"

"You look as if you're about to Samba, not Tango."

"Oh, give it a rest, Hermione. So you did some research. That doesn't make you Queen of the Tango."

Hermione smiled softly, tucking her hands behind her back. "I've decided to approach the situation with a scholar's view. If I master the steps in my head, executing them should be a walk in the park."

"Dance doesn't work that way, sweetie," Ginny chided. "It's about speaking from your soul."

"You don't think I'm capable?"

"I think your soul is about as stiff as the books you hide in. That's why I think this will be good for you -you'll learn to loosen up a bit!"

"I'm plenty loose!"

Ginny raised an eyebrow, and Hermione muttered,

"Oh, not that way, Gin! Get your mind out of the gutter."

"Loose women? Pinch me, I must be in heaven."

The women whipped their heads around at the sound of a third voice, finding the doorway occupied with a tall, handsome man with strong features. He wore a mop of wavy brown hair, cut short on the sides, and he possessed emerald colored eyes much like Harry. On his person he wore muggle slacks, a nice simple black shirt, and dress shoes. He carried a duffle bag over his shoulder and a look of inquiry on his face.

"So sorry to startle you ladies. By chance, are you two here to Tango with Señor Diggle?"

"We are." Ginny attempted a fancy curtsy. "And you are?"

The man bowed. "Gregory Diggle, at your service."

"Odd. He doesn't look like a 'Señor'," Hermione noted, ribbing Ginny.

"That's because the title belongs to my father, Douglas."

"And yet, I detect no Spanish accent."

"I assure you, it's a title, nothing more. Although my mother did hail from Spain before meeting my father. It's actually how they met -dancing, I mean."

"Fascinating," Hermione smirked. "Do you tell all of the 'loose women' your life story? And has it ever worked?"

"Hermione!"

Diggle smirked right back. "Only on the simple minded -of which you are not."

"Indeed."

"I'm actually here to assist my father."

"Ooh, so you'll be instructing us, too?" Ginny giggled. "Hermione's single, for the record."

"Gin!"

"She might seem abrasive, but it's only because she's wound up tighter than a rubber band."

"I'll take that into consideration," Diggle said, chuckling. "And you are?"

"Ginny-" Hermione interjected, "-And she's taken. By a famous wizard, I might add. Don't even think of trying anything." Her protective nature made Ginny scoff, roll her eyes, and extend out her hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Greg."

Likewise, Ginny. Hermione." Greg nodded once and shuffled past the women, setting his duffle bag on the far side of the room. "I look forward to seeing what you girls can accomplish!"

Hermione decided to pull out a book she'd brought (snuck) and read quietly in the corner, ignoring the handsome wizard further. Ginny, reluctantly, took a seat next to her, huffing every few minutes. Strangers filtered in, and it wasn't until Hermione heard Ginny give a sharp gasp that she looked up from her book again.

"What now, Ginny?"

"Look for yourself," Ginny whispered, nudging Hermione in the side. The brunette scanned her eyes over the front door and was shocked when she was met with four familiar faces; only one of them, however, made her insides flare with aggressive heat.

"Good gracious." Hermione felt her stomach tumble as her eyes met with Draco Malfoy, and she directed her gaze back to the book.

* * *

"What in the bloody Hell…" Draco muttered, leaning over to Blaise. "Zabini, do my eyes deceive me, or is that Hermione Granger and Weasley's sister across the room?"

His friend furrowed his brows and actually looked about the room. "Oh goody." Blaise stiffened his posture. "No, Draco. I daresay your eyesight is perfectly intact."

"Astoria, I thought you said these lessons were private…" Draco grumbled.

"They are," replied Astoria with a chirp.

"Then what are other people doing here?"

"Oh, come now, Draco. You didn't expect it to just be us four? These lessons _are_ private. That's why there's only ten of us."

"I'm going to die." Draco froze in his spot, mortified. "Right here. Right now. Humiliation. I never thought I'd be taken out so easily…"

"And in the prime of your life!" Blaise patted his friend on the back. "Don't you think you're being a bit overdramatic?"

"All Malfoys are predispositioned to be that way," quipped Daphne. "It's in their DNA."

" _Someone_ enjoyed her Muggle Studies back in school," sneered Draco right back. "I can't do this."

"Why not?" Astoria crossed her arms.

"Because I refuse to humiliate myself in front of one-third of the Golden Trio and her soulless best friend!"

"Isn't that Ginny Weasley? I hear she's been signed on to the Holyhead Harpies!" Astoria jumped in her spot. "Ooh, do you lot know her? Could we ask for an autograph?"

"Sometimes I forget she's younger than all of us," Blaise mused, setting an arm on Astoria's shoulder. "Tori, listen. Draco and those two don't get on very well. I think it's best if we all kept our distance, yes?"

"Spoil my fun," Astoria crossed her arms. "Fine, then. Brood all you like. You might try getting on with them, Draco."

"Psh." Draco snorted a laugh. "Fat chance. -Or should I say _puffy_?"

Daphne glared daggers before smacking Draco on the back of the head while Blaise shot him a cautious look. Just then, a tall gentleman with a slicked back hair, a thick handlebar mustache, and flowing robes entered the room, pushing past them with flare.

"Good evening! Good evening." He gave a dramatic bow.

"It's three in the afternoon," Draco muttered under his breath.

The man raised an eyebrow toward the blond and cast him a daunting glance before addressing the class. "As most of you might already know, I am the wizard who needs no introduction!" He snapped his fingers, and the room sprang to life in a quick tempo of music. "I am the one! The only! The infamous!"

"The long-winded," muttered Blaise.

"Douglas Bastian Diggle!" The man snapped his fingers again, and the music stopped. "Let's get started, shall we?"

* * *

**Thank you for all of the support! Let the Dramione madness begin!**   
**Please leave your thoughts?**   
**~(Strikes a dramatic pose) A!**


	3. Four Left Feet

 

****

**So sorry this took so long to come out. It's a bit short, but the next chapter will be long and full of hilarious encounters, as well as some Dramione interaction! This one will get the ball rolling.**

**Special thank you to LightofEvolution for some juicy ideas, some in here, some to come!**   
**_Gracias_ to my bilingual friend, Sam Wallflower, who helped me with my Spanish and fixed some of my errors. XDz**

**oh, just to make sure everyone is clear. There are two Diggles here. Douglas, the father, and Greg, the son. XD If you've read the How To Train Your Auror series, you'll recognize them. If you've read Sex Ed, you'll recognize two other familiar names...**

**Hope everyone's day is bright!**   
**~A.**

* * *

**_"Dance is the hidden language of the soul" – Martha Graham_ **

* * *

**Stage Right: Hermione, Ginny, Greg Diggle**  
Stage Left: Draco and Astoria, Daphne and Blaise  
Center Stage: Señor Douglas Bastian Diggle  
Setting: Diggle's private dance studio, (location: still secret)

* * *

Hermione had to place her book over her face to stifle the ridiculous amount of giggles that threatened to erupt from her throat at the sight of 'Señor Diggle' and his absurd cape. Next to her, she noticed Greg Diggle turning the color of a springtime strawberry, dragging one hand down his face comically in embarrassment. She nearly took pity on the man, but she wasn't given the opportunity, because Diggle senior glided into the center of the room and tapped his foot on the floor twice, calling for everyone's attention.

"It feels so good to see such fresh faces! Come, now. We haven't any time to waste. Introductions are in order!"

"Introductions?" muttered an auburn-haired gentleman in the corner of the room, clinging to the exercise rail.

"Yes! I find it is best to get to know each one of my protégés before we get down to official business. Who would like to begin first?"

The room full of hopeful dancers all began to look anywhere but at Diggle. Even Hermione felt her once eagerness to show her knowledge off wane in the presence of such a gaudy professor. However, when she realized no one else would make a move, she mustered her Gryffindor courage from within and raised a hand into the air.

* * *

Of course, it would be bloody Granger to raise her hand. Always the eager sprout, wasn't she? Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes as the brunette was called upon and ushered to the center of the room to stand next to Señor-fancy-pants.

"Hello," said Diggle in a cheerful tone. "And who are you?"

"Well," she began, "My name is Hermione Granger, and my parents and I lived in London for most of my life…"

"No. No, no, no. I don't care about any of that."

"You don't?" Granger looked utterly perplexed, paling on the spot.

"No, _mi_ _niña_. I wish for you to express to us who you are."

"I do believe I was trying-"

Diggle gave an impish laugh, waving his arm dramatically around the room, causing his cape to flow behind him like an opera singer. "Do or do not. There is no try."

"Father, that's from Star Wars…" a chiseled wizard, dressed all in black, said from the back corner.

Wait. "Father?" Draco interjected, raising a curious eyebrow and, regretfully, drawing unwanted attention to himself. Still, if the spotlight was going to be on him, he'd handle the role with poise. "You're his son, are you?"

"So they tell me," muttered the man, crossing his arms.

"Our hats off to you, mate," Blaise chimed in, bowing in sarcastic formality.

Douglas Diggle's mustache waved dangerously on his upper lip, narrowing his eyes at his son. "If you are quite done, I'd like to return back to Miss-?" he looked expectantly toward Granger.

"Hermione Granger, Sir."

" _Señor_ ," Diggle corrected. "So, Miss Granger. Tell us who you are."

"I thought I was, before you so rudely interrupted me."

"'Mione!" seethed her redhead friend against the wall, giving her a whatfore glare.

"Quite alright," Diggle said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "We shall see soon enough." With that, he clapped his hands twice, and the room went dark, save but for a lone spotlight above Granger, cascading down on her like the light of the moon. Diggle gave another wave of his mustache as he sauntered away.

"Er… what am I supposed to do now?" Granger asked.

"What else, q _uerida mía_? Dance!"

It was like Christmas morning come early to Draco as he watched Diggle snap his fingers and listened as upbeat trumpets, drums, and wind instruments lit to life in the form of an old turntable near the door. Two more spotlights erupted from nowhere and landed on the overwhelmed Granger in the center of the floor, eyes wide and expression grim. Like a kneazle being thrown into a bath, Granger's bushy hair stood on end, and she cleared her throat, took out her wand, and waved it. The music died and the spotlight doused as a flame would to water. Then, with a cross of her arms, she sighed and said, "No, thank you."

Diggle puffed out his chest, resembling one of the proud peacocks that wandered in the Manor's front yard during summertime. "Do you, or do you not, wish to be taught the sultry, provocative dance of the Tango by the world's most renowned dancing coach?"

"And how will making a fool of myself prove anything? I thought I was here to learn, not to be put on the spot and paraded for my shortcomings."

It didn't matter if they were three years out from the War. It made no difference blood status or titles or social status. Hermione Granger had just admitted she did, indeed, possess a shortcoming, and Draco couldn't have been more pleased. He smirked, though he held himself back from outright laughing, not wanting to draw more attention to himself than needed. After all, he had the exact same shortcoming. Though he'd never admit it to the insufferable brunette…

"Your reputation doesn't seem to precede you, Granger," said Daphne, taking a step forward. "I thought you were brilliant in everything?"

* * *

Daphne Greengrass. Slytherin. Her marriage to Blaise Zabini had been the talk of the papers for weeks before the event. Hermione remembered her fairly well from her days back at Hogwarts and always knew her to be a jealous sort, much like her friend Pansy Parkinson. Though Hermione assumed she might have grown out of it, it appeared she was mistaken. With a hearty, impromptu sigh, she looked around the room, spotted Greg Diggle, and pointed her finger at him.

"You. Here."

"Me?"

"Yes."

Greg politely crossed the room and stood in front of her, his handsome green eyes dancing in bewildered amusement. "Well now, Hermione. What is it you wanted?"

Her heart fluttering out of nervousness (because she never enjoyed being stared at), Hermione placed one hand on Greg's shoulder, clasping his hand with the other, and set her posture in an almost robotic position. "All I'm familiar with is the Waltz. Can you manage?"

Greg's eyes lit up like Christmas lights, and he gave a chuckle. "Absolutely."

The music started up again, and Hermione began to count the rhythm in her head. One, two, three… one, two, three… one two…

"Ahh!" Greg gasped as she stepped on his toe.

"Sorry," she managed, hopping back into step with him. Across the way, she could hear the sniggering of several ex-Slytherins under their breaths. Not one to back down, she kept her eyes down at their feet, watching with mechanical scrutiny to avoid hurting her dance partner again. It came as a surprise when Greg decided to dip her -her flats slipped across the slick floor, moving her awkwardly to scuffle her feet as he held the dip. With a roll of his eyes, he pulled her back to her feet and bowed formally. The music faded away, and, with a redness to her cheeks, she stalked back over near Ginny, wishing to be as small as a mouse so no one could see the flush of embarrassment across her face.

"I hope you're happy," she grumbled to her friend, trying to sink in further to the floor as Greg approached and took a seat next to her.

"Well… that was… informative," Douglas Diggle said, twirling his mustache between his fingertips. "Most definitely a... er…"

"I believe the word you're looking for is 'trainwreck.'"

It was Draco Malfoy, of all people, to offer up his two cents, smirking with his arms crossed.

"Quite right," agreed Diggle, "Indeed, every classroom has its weakest link. -And you are?"

"Draco."

"Wonderful. Draco, why don't you show Miss Granger how it's done, yes?"

Instantly, the haughty grin was wiped off his pale face. "Oh. No. It…" he cleared his throat, bumping his fist to his chest as if a chocolate frog was lodged in it. "I couldn't possibly… wouldn't be fair…"

"Nonsense, Draco!" said a beautiful woman with long, chestnut ringlets (and one of the most prim postures Hermione had ever laid eyes on) as she took the blond by the hand and dragged him to the center of the room. "Let's give it a go, yes?"

"Astoria," he could be heard muttering, "I don't think this…"

But the music sprang up, and the spotlight churned, and Astoria took Malfoy's hand, slipped it around her, and began to lead them in a bone-bare version of the traditional Waltz. To his credit, he made it four steps in before floundering around, forgetting every step, and tripping over her shoes to nearly fall flat on his face. His only saving grace was Blaise Zabini, who waved his wand and cast a quick cushioning charm before the heir broke his nose.

Hermione didn't feel entirely all that bad anymore.

* * *

"I take it back," Señor Diggle said whimsically, "It appears the weakest chain might lay with you, dear Draco."

Draco scrambled to his feet, not missing the pained expression on his fiancée face. Filled with humiliation, it nearly made it worse when she patted him on the back and whispered, "That's alright, Draco. You'll get it. Don't you worry."

He didn't miss the shuffle of few galleons being fished out of Blaise's pocket and being passed over to Daphne as he retreated back to his spot. Astoria was set to follow him when Señor Diggle sidestepped, blocking her path.

"You, however, have quite a graceful cadence, my dear."

"Astoria," she said, beaming. "And thank you, señor."

"I'd love to see what you could do with a proper partner. Would you mind dancing with my son for a session?"

"Not at all!" Astoria exclaimed, bouncing up and down. It was clear she enjoyed the attention. Draco tried to fight off his embarrassment to be proud of her, but it didn't help that he caught Granger and Weasleyette giggling to themselves in the corner, occasionally pointing a finger in his direction. He was forced to watch as the son of Señor Gaudy-Glitz placed his hands all over (okay, perhaps simply on her back and in her hand) and proceeded to spin _his_ fiancé in delicate turns around the floor. The crowd began to cheer and clap, and even Weasley's little sister gave a hoot of glee. The only one unimpressed was the witch who sucked just as bad as he did. Really, all it did was boost Draco's ego a bit more. Sure, maybe he couldn't dance, but his future wife certainly could… better than the know-it-all prude…

"Now this!" said Diggle, "This is a proper dancer! I can work with this!"

When Astoria returned to her spot next to Draco, the entire room was in awe of her.

One by one, the others around the room introduced themselves;

There was Ginny Weasley, who held a bit of skill of her own, but lacked the posture.

Blaise and Daphne went together as a couple, causing the group to 'ooh' and aww' at their rendition of a the Bachata. If it wasn't evident before on how they made the baby growing inside Daphne, it was now.

Next, there was a female couple by the names of Geraldina and Paulina who were as blocky with their movements as their faces resembled (which was to say, quite a bit.)

Finally, at the tail end of the line up, was a couple who appeared fresh out of Hogwarts by the names of Lidia and Liam. To be honest, they were probably the most confident couple in the room, aside from Blaise and Daphne, and they moved with poise and grace far beyond their years. It caused Draco to wonder if they might be professional dancers in disguise.

"Yes... " good ol' fancy-pants Diggle said, nodding to each his clients, "I have a good read on each one of you now. Now that I know what is in your soul, I can begin to properly mold you into the dancers of your dreams!" He beamed with particular bravado toward Astoria.

There came a snort from the other side of the room. "Excuse me. Did you just mean to imply you think you know us now?" Of course, it was Granger.

"No, _cariño_. I was saying it outright." With a clap, the room lit back to life once more, and glowing, red X's appeared in various, even stances across the floor. "Everyone, take a partner. We will begin with the basic stance, for now, until I can assess individual needs."

* * *

Hermione was livid. "Did you just hear what he said, Gin?" she gasped in a whisper as couples began to take their places on the dancefloor. "He can't _really_ presume to know us based off of one dance!"

Ginny smiled softly to her friend and patted her on the knee. "Window to the soul, remember? Relax. You'll do better next round. At least you weren't as bad as Malfoy."

The corners of Hermione's lips tugged upward. "Yes, that's true." As she prepared to stand, she found a hand in her face, offered out to her. It was Greg Diggle, a gentle smile written in the lines of his face. "What are you doing?"

"Well, unless you and Miss Weasley intend to be an official dance couple, I thought I might offer myself up as tribute to your atrocious dance skills."

"Charming." She pushed his hand out of the way and pushed herself to her feet, squaring him up. "And who is Ginny dancing wi-" she cut herself off when she saw Ginny all smiles, facing Señor Diggle on a nearby X. Giving a sigh, Hermione narrowed her eyes at Greg and poked him in the sternum. "Hands above the waist at all times, and eyes on mine."

"Your friend was right. You're quite abrasive."

"Everyone in positions, now!" shouted Douglas. "No time to waste! We'll begin with something simple to sink our teeth into. The Tango embrace!"

"Is that wise?" Hermione asked, allowing Greg to lead her over to their provided X. "Shouldn't the embrace be sought after only once both partners know all of the required steps?"

Greg rolled his eyes, positioning her close to him -so close, in fact, she could feel his breath in her cheek and smell his woody cologne. "I know he can be a bit.. eccentric. But there is a method to his madness, Hermione. I assure you. Relax."

Searching for her voice as she struggled to focus on his Adam's apple (because looking into his eyes would be entirely too flustering at the moment), she replied, "But I've read that control of the pelvic muscles is very much important to the act-"

"-This isn't a book. This is a classroom. Hands on. No book is going to teach you the intimacy behind this dance. Only the embrace can teach you that." His fingers were soft on her skin, tracing gentle circles with the pads along her back and stoking enough fire within her to meet his gaze. With a smirk, Greg raised one of his eyebrows and said, "Shall we begin?"

* * *

**I don't plan to be as late with an update next time around. This one isn't as funny as the next, but I had to get the ball rolling in order for Hermione and Draco to show off just how horrible they really are. XD (Don't you mind Greg Diggle. He's harmless. This is a Dramione story, after all!)**

**A review is always kind and highly appreciated.**   
**~A.**

 


	4. Heavy Confrontation

**Oh, I love this chapter so much. Thank you to LightofEvolution for some hilarious ideas, Sam Wallflower for brushing me up on my Spanish, and waymay for editing! My fanfiction Squirm made it to the finals of the Dramione awards! Voting ends on the 29th, so if you have a moment, would you please vote? Even if it's not for me (fingers crossed it could be) -message me for link!**

**-you might some of your favorite fics are up for noms!**

**Love, ~A.  
(Photo Manip made by me!)**

****

* * *

**"Great dancers are not great because of their technique; they are great because of their passion." -Martha Graham**

* * *

It started out simple enough -Greg's hands, while intimately cradling Hermione, guided her forward as they took their first step. They'd gone over the instructions; Hermione watched diligently as Greg's father allocated the first three foot patterns with detail. She diagramed the foot placement in her head, knew where she was to step (in theory) and prepared herself. However, real life is never theory, and, despite what she knew, Hermione fumbled forward with stiff, robotic movements. She nearly crashed her face into Greg's chest while simultaneously over lunging her first step and kicking him square in the jewels.

"Oof!" Greg Diggle gave an all out pained cry as he doubled forward, hands momentarily releasing her to catch himself from falling. Hermione's face went the color of a cherry tomato as she gasped, placing her hands over her mouth.

"Oh my -are you-"

"Fine!" he said, waving a dismissive hand in her direction. "I'm fine, just… give me a moment."

Next to them, a satisfied chuckle from Blaise Zabini could be heard as he swept across the dance floor with his partner, Daphne, making quick work of the steps in place. Hermione cast a brief glance around the room, noticing the wandering eyes peeling back to dancing from all directions. Even Ginny had a smirk across her face as she mouthed, 'Told you so.' Still, she straightened up her shoulders and nodded, indicating for Hermione to carry on, to which she did, offering a hand out to Greg.

"I'm terribly sorry," she said, "I think I was overeager."

Coughing, he replied back, "That must be it." He took her hand and let her pull him upright as she brushed his shoulders off. She knew it did nothing for his pained groin, but she would make do with what comfort she could provide. After all, she wasn't about to massage his bits or anything to make him feel better. Greg placed his hands on her arms and stepped her backwards at arm's length. "Sorry, but until you've mastered the footwork, perhaps it's best if we don't stand too close to each other."

Blushing, Hermione nodded. "Of course. Erm…" She would have said something else, but the sound of Astoria Greengrass squealing from the other side of the room was nothing short of horrifying, and the brunette spun around to witness the chaos.

"These are my best dancing shoes!" she exclaimed, gesturing down to them in horror.

Draco Malfoy stood a foot away from her, hands on his hips and an expression of listless apprehension set across his pointed features. "It isn't my fault you decided to wear your best to a lesson of all things," he hissed under his breath, but he wasn't subtle enough to realize the room carried wonderful acoustics.

"Well, I didn't expect you to scuff them all to Hell within the first five minutes, did I?" Astoria replied, crossing her arms.

Hermione didn't feel nearly as terrible about herself -at least her dance partner was kind in those regards.

Twenty more minutes went by of Hermione feeling like an utter fool before the real humiliation set in.

It all began when, in an attempt to 'loosen up' for the umpteenth time at Greg's request, she swung her hips too far and sent her wand flying from its holster. It clattered to the floor as it begun to roll, just missing dancing shoes by inches. Hermione stopped in her tracks.

"Oh dear." She placed one finger up to Greg. "Excuse me a moment."

She weaved through the crowd, nearly making it just before the youngest couple's leading man, Liam, stepped backward and kicked her wand to the other end of the room, near a refreshment stand with cups of water and fresh finger foods displayed.

In retrospect, she probably should have _Accio_ 'd her wand with a bit of wandless magic and called it a day. As she approached the table, she took no notice of Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy dancing some feet away, nor did she overhear the struggled grumble of Malfoy as he said, "Astoria, slow it down. This is too fast-" And if she'd been paying attention, she would have noticed when Malfoy lost his footing, flailing backwards. No, she noticed none of this as she got down on her hands and knees, reaching just underneath the skirting of the table to retrieve her valuable wand -that was, until something… no, _someone_ landed smack dab into her side. Malfoy's legs buckled against her back, and he tripped backward into the refreshment table, sending it toppling over. Drinks, carrot sticks and sandwich slices went flying through the air, and the table collapsed, landing cups of ice cold water and food all over Hermione's head. Not only that, but Malfoy had her pinned with his behind to the floor, splayed across the broken table while sitting directly on top of her and groaning loudly.

"¡ _Dios mio_!" Señor Diggle exclaimed, nearly dropping Ginny from a dip.

"Fucking Hell," Malfoy hissed, "Seriously, Granger?"

" _Me_?" Hermione seethed back, "You can't possibly think this is _my_ fault?"

"Of course I do! You're the one who bloody tripped me!"

Though the two whispered these insults, those who gathered around to stare at the spectacle could hear them just fine.

"I tripped _you_? You seemed to be doing the tripping perfectly well on your own."

"Shut up..." Malfoy climbed off of her and hoisted himself to stand. Hermione was soon to follow, brushing down her skirt as she did. The pair exchanged irate glances at one another as Señor Diggle stepped up between them, staring at the broken table.

"Is this your idea of some kind of joke?" he said, glancing between the two.

"She tripped me," Malfoy said indignantly, crossing his arms.

"He tripped _over_ me," Hermione corrected, fuming. "It isn't my fault he's a first rate klutz."

"You're one to talk -As if we all didn't see you nearly take out your partner's chance at reproducing."

"That's quite enough, the both of you," Señor Diggle said at once. With a flick of his wand, he repaired the table and reversed the blunders. Water spilled back into cups as carrots and sandwich meats replaced themselves inside slices of bread. Looking like a rooster with his feathers too ruffled, Señor Diggle tapped his foot twice to the floor, illuminating the scene like the lights springing up after a movie in a theatre. "You," he pointed to Malfoy, "and you," to Hermione, "While I have a tolerance for those not naturally gifted with the art of _danza,_ I will not condone bickering or floundering around like fresh born hippogriffs," Malfoy flinched, perhaps in memory of a certain one named Buckbeak from third year, "in my studio! Greg!" he gestured with a wide sweeping motion to his son, "take these two _bebés_ to studio _dos_ so they might strip themselves of their nasty arguments and light the passionate fires of dance within!"

As Hermione blushed, stepping forward to follow Greg to the door, she muttered to Malfoy under her breath, "Do us all a favor and skip the stripping of anything to a minimum."

"Afraid you might like what you see, Granger?" he taunted, sauntering with his arrogant strut behind Greg and cutting Hermione off. She gave herself a moment to strangle on his heavy cologne (though it wasn't the worst she'd ever smelled, in comparison to Ron's gagging concoction he found in the sickle bin of Madam Malkin's.) 'I _could hex him, and I doubt anyone in the world would hold it against me besides his friends…maybe not even them._ '

She didn't dare look at Ginny's face, knowing what she'd find would only be disappointment. Instead, she marched on out of the room, following the two men down the narrow hallway, away from the floo she and Ginny arrived in, and to a thick, black door carved with fairies dancing under the moon.

From around Greg's neck he produced a long, silver key dangling from a chain. Without a word he removed the key, stuck it in the lock of the knob, and turned it. Cranks and gears churned, and the door swung open with a growl. Darkness loomed within. "You two have really stepped in it," he said, producing his wand and giving it a wave. Candles in their holders lit up around the small space. Instead of polished floors, they were older, unfinished and groaned as the three stepped inside. There was only one mirror on the opposite wall of the door covered in a thick layer of grime.

"Haven't you ever heard of house elf services?" Malfoy chided. "This place looks as if it hasn't seen a cleaning charm in years."

"That's because it hasn't," said Greg, a simmering tone caught in his voice. "The fact my father has ushered you in here means he doesn't know what else to do with you. To be honest, I doubt you two will make it to next week's lesson."

That caught Hermione's attention. "He means to expel us?"

"This isn't school, Granger," Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Besides, we're both paid up for lessons. He has no right to-"

"-He has every right to," Greg interrupted, eyes flashing with irritation. "The fine print of your contract states a full refund will be instated if a pupil is deemed unteachable. -You two might be in luck, because my father has never given anyone the title before. Either he'll find a way to work with you, or you both will be the first to have stumped my father." He cast an apologetic glance to Hermione. "I'll have a talk with him after lessons and put in a good word for you. _I_ don't believe you're unteachable. Perhaps I could convince him for _private lessons_?" It was followed by a flirtatious wink.

Malfoy raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at the man, understanding the connotations just as much as she did.

As Greg strolled back to the door, Malfoy crossed his arms and sneered, "What about me?"

Greg simply shrugged his shoulders and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Yes, what about you, Malfoy?" He shot Hermione a wink and shut the door behind them, leaving the two alone.

With the click of the door shut, Hermione felt her pulse begin to race. The thought of being kicked out of anything, albeit dance lessons, was far beyond what her perfectionist mind could comprehend. She'd listened to every instruction, participated as best she could, and now the possibility of being thrown out was all because of one infuriating man with a history of making her life a living nightmare.

* * *

Draco felt relief hit him like a firm gust of wind. If he were to be kicked out of these infernal dance lessons, Astoria couldn't hold it against him for his inability to dance the Tango. All of this dancing happened so quickly, he hadn't mentally prepared himself for the fiendish adventure.

He glanced over at the water-soaked Granger, who stared back at the door with red tint to her cheeks, and knew, without a doubt, she did not feel the same way. After spending six years in school with her, and one year battling her and her friends, he learned a few things about the frizzy-haired bookworm. First, she didn't like failing -at anything. Second, she was resourceful enough to make failing obsolete. Last, but never least, was her kindred dislike of him just as he felt for her. Though the air was cleared after the war in regards to his involvement in it, it still didn't make up for the enigmatic rivalry the pair shared.

"So," Draco asked in a bored drawl, sick of the silence (because the silence always brought forth his thoughts, which were broodier than he cared to admit), "Thinking on taking up Diggle junior's offer on 'private lessons'?"

"We both know what that implies," she huffed, drawing her hair back with one hand and pinning it into a ponytail with her wand. Small strands of curls broke away from the group, falling around her face and framing it. "But you've put me in such a muck, I might actually need to take him up on those lessons."

Draco smirked. "Hermione Granger still strives to be teacher's pet, I see. Unfortunately for you, I believe _that_ teacher pets back."

She narrowed her eyes, finally meeting his gaze. "Are you through?"

"Hardly."

She huffed again, this time pointing her wand toward her water-soaked blouse. " _Excarso_." The drenched material dried instantly. "Would you like me to…?"

Draco glanced down to his attire, noticing the mustard stains. "No, thank you." Damn it all, he wasn't supposed to use his pureblood manners on _her_ , was he? Still, he did have a family name to uphold, and they weren't children. "I'll just end up throwing these out anyway. If I have to alter my clothing with magic, they're not worth keeping anymore."

Granger rolled her eyes in an exaggerated way and tucked her wand back in its holster at her hip. "It must be nice having such luxuries," her words dripped with irony.

To fix his mistake of manners, Draco replied, "If we're being perfectly honest, I have no need, or want, for your help."

"I see you're still as charming as ever." He watched Granger toe out of her shoes and kick them off to the side. Curiously, she wiggled her toes and closed her eyes, inhaling. Then, she held her arms out and up into the air as if she were dancing with an invisible partner.

"What are you doing?" he couldn't help but ask.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're imitating Frankenstein's monster."

One eye popped open. "You know the works of Mary Shelley?"

"Don't be daft, Granger. Of course I do. She was a witch, after all." Draco smirked as he watched Granger's eye shut once again.

"As if it isn't already obvious, I'm practicing."

"Walking like a monster?"

" _Dancing_!" Disgruntled, Granger threw her hands down at her sides and opened both her eyes this time, staring at him with contempt. "Some of us actually want to pass this course."

"You talk as if this is Hogwarts."

"It might as well be. I can just assume do better than you here as I did back when we were teenagers."

Draco felt his cheeks go warm, and he felt nostalgic jealousy bubble within his chest. "You might have bested me in a few courses, but life is the ultimate test, isn't it?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he said with a confident smirk, "My life is going far more swimmingly than yours."

"And you know this how?"

"It isn't difficult to deduce. You're here with Ginny Weasley, which can only mean you were dragged to this event out of some poorly constructed way to get you out of the house. Otherwise you'd be here with a _man_. So, I can easily assume you're single. Who dumped who, I wonder?" His smirk widened as he beheld the flabbergasted look on her face. "You dumped Weasley, I imagine. What was it? Was he not intellectually up to your speed? Or did you finally tire of a floundering, turnip-faced flobberworm chasing your skirt tails?"

Granger looked as if she might blow a gasket as she crossed her arms stomped one haughty foot to the floor, creaking the floorboards. "You're one to talk about floundering, seeing as how you, moments ago, knocked an entire table over with little more than your ego and clumsiness."

"You were in my way."

"If you weren't already falling in the first place, it wouldn't have made a difference!"

Draco found himself indigently snorting and casting one hand up in the air out of sheer frustration. "Yes, well-" he tried to think of a better comeback, "at least I didn't knee my partner in the groin."

"Does your partner have something hidden down there we all should be aware of?" she quipped back.

"Astoria is all woman, I assure you."

"Pleasant to know, Malfoy. Perhaps one day she can pair herself with someone who is _all man_."

Oh, if he weren't so angered at her words, he might almost have found them impressive. "Marrying a Malfoy is the best a woman can get."

"If she has low standards."

This time, irate laughter escaped his lips. "You know what, Granger? It's no wonder you haven't got yourself a man. You're so corroding, even Draught of Living Death would be envious of you."

She gave a tittering scoff. "If you're quite through!"

"I'm only getting started!"

The two glared each other down as uncomfortable silence fell between them. Draco couldn't explain why she managed to get under his skin the way she did that day. He was a grown man, for Merlin's sake. So why was he letting Granger dig into his psyche as if she was a sharp blade beneath his nails? There was something about her… something so… inundating. It sparked and stirred a fire within him so temperamental he couldn't control it when she narrowed her eyes or opened her mouth to speak.

After a minute passed, Granger reset her stance and put her arms in the air. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to practice and not waste my friend's money."

Draco gave a mock bow. "By all means." He then proceeded to walk in a circle around her, causing her to fidget on the spot.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm analyzing your stance."

"I don't need you to analyze me."

"Apparently you do. You're as stiff as a coat rack and twice as unwelcoming."

"I couldn't possibly be stiff. Greg told me to limber up, and that's exactly what I'm doing."

Coming to an abrupt stop in front of her, Draco smirked, inches away from her hands. "You think so?" He mimicked her stance, right down to the rigid expression on her face. "Granger, may I present you with exhibit A."

"I… I don't look like that."

"You do." He all out grinned at her weary expression.

She chewed her bottom lip in thought, dropping her hands down to her sides. "Alright. Show me how it's done, then."

"What?"

"Yes. Come on now, mister smarty-pants. If you're so talented as you think, let's see how it's done."

"I don't need to prove myself to you," Draco sneered.

"If you're scared…"

He snapped into place, unwilling to give her the satisfaction. Draco struggled to recall exactly where his hands went, but his feet were in their proper place, which was more than he could have said for her. He watched her inspect his form, stalking around him just as he'd done to her before coming to a halt at his front.

"No. This hand should be here," she stepped forward, taking his left hand and bending it at the elbow ninety degrees. Not letting go, she used her other hand to guide his right one to her back, resting it just under her shoulder blade. They stood inches away now. Draco couldn't recall a time where he'd ever been so close to Hermione Granger, let alone touched her. He thought she would have been all dry skin and unpleasant scent, but her hand was quite smooth in his, and she smelled of roses and parchment. All together, not what he expected and far more balmy. "See?"

Granger wasn't particularly tall, but she was a few inches higher than Astoria, her eyes barely meeting the height of his clavicle. It was for this reason he needed to dip his chin down to reply, "Hmph. Know-it-all. You're still so stiff I could rest a coat on you. Obviously, flexibility isn't your strong suit."

"I'll have you know, I'm plenty flexible!"

Was she? Draco couldn't help to test her theory. "Let's find out, shall we?" Without warning, he pushed her slightly off balance with his hand and sent her back into a dip. He recalled when that irritating Greg fellow had done this (and the way Granger's legs had come out from underneath her), so he grabbed onto her leg and hiked it up, drawing her closer to him to balance her out. Granger's eyes went wide, and she gasped in surprise, but he held her there with a challenge in his eyes. This time, she did not slip as he arched her back, cradling her against his forearm for support. She was lighter than expected, and it made it easier to lean her even further, testing her flexibility. With a smirk, Draco stared down at her. "Still as stiff as a statue."

Something switched on in Granger's eyes, and she narrowed them at his challenge before arching her chest forward, exposing the muscles of her neck as she tilted her head back. Her body nearly went limp in his hand as she melted into the most relaxed form he'd ever seen her take. The buttons of her shirt were tight as her breasts threatened to pull at their threads; though he was a taken man, he was a _man_ , and he caught himself ogling her covered mounds.

Merlin, they did look appetizing…

The door swung wide open, startling Draco to the point where he nearly dropped the witch on the spot. Both pairs of eyes bolted up toward the door to see Señor Diggle, mouth agape, eyes fixed on their provocative pose they found themselves in. Not wanting anyone to get the wrong impression, Draco promptly released Granger and sent her tumbling to the floor.

"Ah!"

"I… er… it wasn't… we weren't-" Draco began, but was cut off when Diggle waggled his mustache and clapped his hands together.

" _Muy bien, mi pequeños!_ " Señor Diggle threw his hands dramatically into the air. "Such raw _pasión!_ This! This is what I've waited to see!"

"We were only mucking around," Draco replied gruffly, thanking his lucky stars Diggle had shut the door so Astoria hadn't witnessed the sight. He glanced down at the startled Granger, who glared dagger eyes at him for dropping her.

"Such chemistry," Diggle sing-songed, "I had come in here with every intention on proclaiming you two as my first unteachable _estudiantes_ , but now I see."

"See what?"

"The fire you two bring forth in each other!"

"You mean anger," said Draco.

"Pure frustration," chimed in Granger.

"Call it what you wish, but when I walked in that door, I saw two very different people from what I saw back in my studio. -We will make dancers of you yet."

"So you'll keep us!?" Granger exclaimed in excitement, pulling herself to her feet.

" _Si, querida mía_."

"Oh, but that's wonderful!" She clapped her hands together and bounced on her heels. "Isn't it, Malfoy?"

"Riveting," he drawled slowly, utterly disappointed.

"On on condition." Diggle put a finger up in the air. "You two must take private lessons from me to catch up to the class. -I will even offer you a discount at half-price for the extra services."

"You expect us to _pay_ for extra services?" Granger reprimanded.

"If you expect to pass my course, _si_."

Draco could see the disdain in Granger's eyes, so of course, he couldn't help but say, "Well, Astoria would have my head if she found out I turned you down. -Money isn't an object for _me_." He added, just to spite her, "But I'm feeling rather generous, so I'm more than willing to pay for Granger's extra lessons, too. That is, she's able to pull the broom out of her arse long enough to learn how to properly dip."

"Ha!" Granger was entirely embarrassed and bitter as she seethed, "I can more than pay for my own lessons, thank you. I'll be damned if I let an arrogant twat get the better of me." She turned her attention to Diggle. "Count me in."

Señor Diggle looked at the pair, beaming. "Splendid! Let's go to my office and set up a schedule, shall we?"

* * *

 **Feel free to leave your thoughts or perhaps the moment that tickled you the most!**  
**Shall** update **soon.**  
**Love every one of you.**  
**~A.**


	5. Trust Fall

 

****

**Love the reviews ya'll have left behind. Makes me giggle.**  
Thank you LightofEvolution for developing this chapter with me, and thank you to Sam Wallflower for perfecting my Spanish!  
~A.

* * *

**"You don't always need a plan. Sometimes you just need to breathe, trust, let go, and see what happens."  
~Cristina Commisso**

* * *

**Stage Right: Hermione and Ginny**  
**Setting: Hermione's kitchen.**

* * *

"Private lessons?" began Ginny, pacing back and forth in front of Hermione's dining room table as her friend dove into a basket of scones. "You're receiving _private lessons_ with Douglas Diggle, world-renowned dancing coach!?"

"Don't make it sound so impressive," Hermione scoffed, plucking a blueberry flavored pastry from the basket. "I'm only gaining these private lessons because I'm absolutely atrocious…" her voice trailed off as she bit into the scone, angry and contemplative.

"Maybe _I_ should become absolutely atrocious in class," Ginny muttered, pulling out a chair and taking a seat across from Hermione." And Malfoy has to attend as well?"

"Mhmm." The brunette pointed accusingly at her friend. "This is all your fault, Gin. Why couldn't you have wanted to take up something simple like paragliding, or ice fishing, or-"

"Do you hear yourself right now?" Ginny gave a slight, unbelieving laugh. "Neither of those things are easy, Hermione."

"Yes, well, neither is the Tango."

"Don't become discouraged. Won't that Greg chap be attending some of these lessons as well?" asked Ginny.

"Gin, you're spoken for."

"Yes, but you aren't!"

Hermione had heard enough. She stood from the table, scone between her teeth, and, with a wave of her hand, levitated the basket of pastries to the top of the refrigerator just as Ginny reached for them. Defeated, Ginny crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

"Just think of it as another way to show Malfoy up, yes?"

With a nod of her head, Hermione chewed the pastry thoughtfully, levitating a new book, plucked fresh from the bookstore this morning. 'T _emptress of the Tango: Unleash Your Inner Goddess_!'

* * *

**Stage left: Draco and Blaise  
Setting: Draco's study**

* * *

"Do it."

"Mate, I'm not doing it."

"As my best man, I _order_ you to do it."

"Yeah, I'm not Goyle. I'm not going to do something just because you tell me to." Blaise Zabini sat in one of the many armchairs inside Draco's study, a tumbler of brandy in one hand while his other rested comically against his cheek as he watched his friend pace the floor three more times before stopping in front of him.

"Come on. Just once."

"Draco, if I break your toes, Astoria would have my bits. -Besides, you know Skele-Gro is readily available at the nearest potion shop."

"Damn," Draco exclaimed, "hadn't thought of that."

"Draco Malfoy doesn't recall a common potion off the top of his head? Alert the press!" Blaise mocked, chuckling into his brandy. When he finished taking another pull, he leaned his head back and said, "You're just going to have to push through."

"Push through?" The blond looked as if he might hex his friend on the spot. "Easy for you to say. You're not being forced to spend three afternoons a week with a pompous, arrogant, smug-"

"-So far, you just sound as if you're describing yourself."

"Shut up. -It's _Granger_. Fucking goody-goody, not a button undone or a T uncrossed _Granger_. Well, she isn't bloody perfect, is she? Have you see that rat's nest she calls hair? One would think for someone so brilliant she might be able to learn how to tame those wild tresses…"

"Now we're talking about Granger's hair?" Blaise raised a cool eyebrow.

"Yes. No. I mean… argh! I just… I need a drink." Draco reached down and snatched the tumbler straight from his friend's hand, right as it was about to reach his lips again, and downed the rest in a flash.

Blaise scowled. "She really gets under that thin skin of yours, doesn't she?"

"I'm not thin-skinned," insisted Draco, even when his friend gave a mock laugh in return. "I'm not!"

"You're complaining about _dancing_. With _Hermione Granger_. While you might be off the market now, there are worse ways to spend your afternoons. Have you seen her-?" Blaise placed his hands to his chest and cupped them. "Grown up quite a bit, hasn't she?"

"I don't want to talk about Granger's breasts."

" _I_ do," admitted Blaise. When his friend turned on him and gave him an incredulous glare, he added, "What? I can appreciate the female form. Daphne knows my heart-"

"-And your prick-"

"-Belong to her."

"Hmph." Draco handed back the empty glass, ignoring his friend's 'what am I supposed to do with this?' expression. "You're right on one thing, though. I'm letting her get the better of me."

"Too right you are," Blaise nodded happily, no doubt cheery his friend agreed with him (for once). "You're a Malfoy, mate. So what if you have to endure some extra quality time with someone… beneath your stature? You've endured worse."

"Have I?"

"...The War?"

"Oh. Right. That." Draco narrowed his eyes. "She was there _then_ , too."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "I give up." He pushed himself up out of the chair and placed his hands on his friend's shoulders. "Listen, Draco. Just remember one thing: you're doing this for Astoria. Astoria's going to love you for it, and when you get back each day, you'll probably get a load of jealousy-induced sex from her. The Greengrasses are notorious for being jealous. You're bound to be sore in the morning from _strenuous activities_ …"

Draco's mood picked up at the thought, and he gave a half-smirk. "Yeah, alright. It doesn't sound all that bad, now."

"See? That's why _I'm_ the best man." Blaise patted Draco's shoulders in encouragement before strolling toward the floo.

"Where are you off to?"

"Strenuous activities," Blaise winked, picking up a handful of floo powder. "Do me a favor and let me know if Granger's breasts are really that mouthwatering, or if it's all some push-up spell."

"How the bloody Hell would I figure that out?"

"They'll jiggle."

* * *

 **Center Stage: Hermione, Señor Diggle, Greg Diggle**  
**Setting: Diggle's dance studio**

* * *

"¡Ah, _querida mía_! Are you dressed for a dance lesson or for sitting in a stuffy boardroom this afternoon?" Señor Diggle greeted Hermione as she stepped inside dance floor _uno._ The door to dance floor _dos_ was mysteriously locked again.

She stifled the urge to quip something dreadful back to him about how it wasn't any of his business what she wore and instead settled on, "According to all texts I've read, this is proper attire for dancing."

From the back of the room, Greg Diggle, dressed much more casual, sniggered under his breath. At Hermione's withering expression, he shrugged to her from behind his father's back. _You brought this on yourself_ , he mouthed.

"¿ _Que_? You cannot learn dance from a book! Dance comes from-"

"-the soul, yes, I know." Hermione rolled her eyes just as a knock came from the door.

"I was going to say diligent practice," said Señor Diggle, "but that works just as well." He flicked his wand, and the door opened, revealing a towheaded man with sharp features and an equally sharp tongue. "Señor Malfoy, so wonderful you could join us. You're ten minutes late."

"I'm five minutes early."

"If you are not fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, you are _late._ "

Malfoy rolled his eyes, stepping past the threshold. He wore a casual pair of slacks (or, what was casual for a pureblood heir) and a thin, emerald shirt.

" _Aunque_ ," Señor Diggle said, taking in Malfoy's appearance, "I will say, you dressed much more appropriately for the lesson."

Malfoy smirked in Hermione's direction, making her cheeks flush in anger and embarrassment.

"Well, no time like the present, ¿ _sí?_ " Señor Diggle snapped his fingers, and Greg approached the center of the dance floor with a single chair. Hermione moved out of the way, stepping toward Malfoy and taking a stance at his side.

"What do you think they're up to?" she asked, leaning closer and, incidentally, inhaling his cologne. He smelled different today, of rosewood and thyme. Honestly, how many different pairings of scents had he accumulated? She could imagine an entire shelf dedicated to expensive, lavish bottles. It was obnoxious enough to make her sick to stomach. Rich, arrogant, self-centered…

"Oh? Are we supposed to make small talk?" Malfoy drawled in a bored way, giving a thick yawn.

"Yes. I assume that's what normal people do in these situations."

"You've never been particularly normal, though, have you?" He quirked an eyebrow, and his smirk grew wider. "Look, as far as I'm concerned, you and I are like a warm front and a cold front. We do fine on our own, but together… well, we don't really get on, do we? So, I'll stick to my warm front, and you stick to your cold one."

"What makes you think you're the warm front? You're obviously icy and bitter enough to make your ancestors proud."

Malfoy opened his mouth to counter, but then the pair watched as Señor Diggle twirled his wand in an intricate pattern, transfiguring the chair to grow higher and higher as it shifted forms into a set of stairs, ten of them in all Hermione counted diligently. The top stair led to a direct drop off, which mirrored her stomach in the moment.

"What is _that_?" Malfoy asked, pointing to the monument.

"Trust exercises," said Greg, strolling up to meet the pair. With a smirk aimed at Malfoy, he walked to the bottom of the staircase (no railing, Hermione noted) and stepped up one, then another, until he reached the top.

"Congratulations, you're king of the mountain," Malfoy sneered sarcastically, clapping his hands in mock show.

"There's always more than meets the eye, Malfoy," Greg said chipperly just as the base of the stairs began to fold into one another, like seats in a bleacher. Soon, the last step was the _only_ step, held up by a pedestal made of other stairs.

"This," said Señor Diggle, "is where you two will begin your lessons."

"On a precariously dangerous staircase?"

"Learning to _trust_ one another. -Greg, if you will."

Greg Diggle's eyes met Hermione's, and his smirk softened into a flirtatious smile before he spread his arms wide and let himself fall backward off the stair.

"Oh!" Hermione shouted, reaching for her wand, but Señor Diggle waved his hand as if he were shooing away a fly and caught Greg in the air with his magic. He wasn't even looking at his son; his eyes were busy trailing down his trouser leg as he wiped a speck of lint off of them.

"This is the trust fall. Muggles created it, I've perfected it." Señor Diggle levitated his son to the ground right side up, and Greg landed on his feet as if this were routine -it probably was. "Each day, a new stair will be added to the staircase. You need only step as high as you are willing to fall and trust your partner to catch you."

Malfoy paled as Hermione's heart elevated.

"You want us to catch each other?" she asked.

"I want you to trust each other," Diggle said flatly.

"Fat chance," muttered Malfoy, crossing his arms.

Hermione swung her head around to glare at him. "You really think I'd let you fall?"

He shrugged, mildly amused. "Relax, Granger. My lack of trust in you doesn't stem from your moral code. It comes from your lack of motor control."

"Why don't you just say what you really mean? Clumsy."

"That's the word."

"Are you two done?" asked Señor Diggle. "Mind you, the studio is getting paid either way."

"Do you know what this man will do to me if I walk up those stairs?" Hermione pointed an accusing thumb over to the tall blond, "This same man has hexed me,"

"I'd hardly call it hexing," Malfoy muttered.

"-Enlarged my teeth-"

"They were already quite big anyway, weren't they?" he smirked.

"-Caused one of my best friends to vomit up slugs for half an afternoon-!"

"-To be fair," Malfoy cut in, "That was on account of his wonky wand, not my doing at all."

"You called me a-" she caught herself, biting on her lower lip to keep from spitting out the word. "...a you-know-what." Fear of a name only increased the fear of the thing itself, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to say _mudblood._ " _That's_ why he tried to hex you."

She watched a slow blush crawl up Malfoy's neck and filter in through his cheeks, but his face was stoic as he replied, "I was a _child_ , Granger."

"Still, it's no excuse."

The pair stared at each other for a moment, soaking in the other's words. That was, until Señor Diggle stepped between them and asked, "Who goes first?"

"I will," Malfoy said with a haughty tone, "After all, _someone_ has to show Granger how it's done."

At the snap of Diggle's fingers, the staircase unfolded. Malfoy approached them with prideful strides, although each step became less confident. When his foot hit the first step, he paused, his arms down at his sides and his fists balled.

"Something wrong, Malfoy?" Hermione teased, shooting him a smirk of her own. "Afraid all those taunts might make me a bit bitter and less apt to catch you?"

"Don't flatter yourself into thinking you're anything less than a goody-goody," he quipped back, straightening his posture to take the next step. "It just so happens I dislike heights."

"One and a half meters isn't all that high," said Greg from his leaned pose against the wall.

"How were you a Seeker in Quidditch back in school if you hated heights?" asked Hermione.

"I had a _broom_ to catch my fall, not a pesky little witch," said Malfoy, clearing the rest of the stairs in quick succession. As his feet hit the top stair, the bottom ones began to fold into one another, drawing forward to create the pedestal. Malfoy gulped audibly, overdramatic as always. "If I die, tell Blaise to hide my collection of playwitch magazines from Astoria."

"Where are they hidden?" asked Hermione with mild interest.

"Like I'd tell you. You'd tell Astoria. No, he knows where. You just tell him."

"That confident you'll die on my watch?"

"More confident than you are that I'll catch you when it's your turn," he leered, turning his attentions to Señor Diggle. "So how does this work? I count backward, or…?"

"Well, that's between you and your _compañera._ "

"My what?"

"He means companion," Hermione replied, and as all eyes turned on her, she smiled, excited to say, "I've also been brushing up on my Spanish."

" _Bien hecho, joven padawan."_

"¡ _Gracias, buen señor_!"

"Are you done sucking up yet?" Malfoy hissed, holding his arms out for balance as the last step clicked into the pedestal and left him hanging in the air. "I'd like to get falling to my impending doom out of the way by dinner time, if you'd be so kind."

Hermione crossed her arms for half a moment, catching herself and realizing it wouldn't be in Malfoy's best interest if she wasn't prepared to snatch him in the air at any given time. "Whenever you're ready," she said.

Malfoy gave a hefty smirk. "You know, it might be better to flank me for this. You'll also find there's a sensational view of my posterior."

"It's not that impressive," called out Greg, who stood a ways behind the blond.

Hermione giggled into her hand. "I'm fine where I am, Malfoy." She untucked her wand from her holster. "Go on, then. Let's see."

"Hmph." Malfoy stuck his pointed nose into the air and extended his arms out slowly. He looked much like a proud peacock in the moment, all show, until he closed his eyes. When he did, he became far less confident. "Backwards from three? Three… two…" and he stepped back too early. "Fuck!" he shouted, tumbling off the edge of the platform with his arms splaying every which way and his perfectly slicked back hair stuck up at odd angles from the force of him tumbling off the precipice.

A white flash of light burst from Hermione's wand, and the next moment, Malfoy was on his back, still three feet from the floor in midair. His breath came in short pants, and his eyes were as wide as saucers, but he was very much _intact_ and _alive_.

"See?" she said, walking around the pedestal to grin confidently down at him. "You survived."

"Lucky me… you can set me down now, Granger- oof!" Malfoy was dropped the rest of the way without warning, and Hermione had to turn away to hide the grin on her face.

* * *

Fucking Hell, his arse hurt. Draco stared up at the ceiling, thinking of how even a house elf had more manners than the frizz-haired woman above him. Was she smiling at his sudden drop? That wench…

Draco sat up on the floor, rubbing his elbow where he landed a bit too rough for comfort. Quidditch left him with a bad joint, and landing on it only flared it with pain -not that Granger cared nor knew.

With a daunting smirk, he said, "Your turn."

Granger must have known she flubbed up, but she pursed her lips together, narrowed her eyes, and addressed Señor Diggle, "Is it possible to add one more step today, _señor_?"

" _Si_ , if you feel you are ready."

The stairs had already begun to pull back apart, and Draco rolled to move out of their way. When he stood back up, he asked Granger, "Trust me that much, do you?"

"No," she replied, sticking her button-nose in the air, "I just enjoy one-upping you." She climbed the stairs, and, with a wave of his wand (and his mustache), Señor Diggle added one extra stair to the staircase. Granger trudged up that final stair, her arse swaying in the tight pencil skirt she wore. Draco couldn't help but think Blaise might be catcalling her if he were here. But Blaise was _not_ here, Draco was, and no catcalling would be done on his watch. Even if the muggleborn arse in question forced him to think of blast ended skrewts to keep his head on straight.

"Ready?" she called back to him as the last stair tucked into place, forming the pedestal.

For half a moment, Draco thought about not catching her as she leaned back. He thought it might be a nice little early wedding present to him to hear the Gryffindor's head crack against the floor. Not to _kill_ her. Just disorient her. Watch her perfect little arse fall heavy on the floor and realize she wasn't all that and a side of crisps.

"Three!" Granger called out, folding her arms to her chest. "Two! -One!"

Draco readied his wand, prepared to catch her, but, to his amazement, Granger faltered on the platform and swayed. She caught herself -a rare occasion for the clumsy display he was used to seeing - and she brought her hands back down to her sides.

"I'm sorry. Did something not tickle your fancy, princess?" he sneered.

"I…" she huffed, turning to look over her shoulder at him. "I'm trying, alright? I am, but… perhaps this was a mistake." She turned around, waiting for the stairs to reappear, but they did not.

"Ah, _lo siento, querida mía_. The stairs will not reproduce until you fall. That's part of the spell."

Draco felt the corners of his lips tug up. "Sounds like you'll have to learn to trust me, Granger."

"What was it you said a moment ago? _Fat chance?"_ Granger huffed. "I… oh, get ahold of yourself, Hermione!" She patted her legs with her hands. "He won't drop you… he won't drop you…"

"But he will chastise you for talking to yourself!" Draco chimed in.

Granger sighed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear before nodding and grumbling, "Let's get this over with. Three… two… one…"

And then she leaned back, arms still at her sides, and allowed herself to fall.

There was something so captivating in the moment, Draco thought, so confident in her grace. Her eyebrows were scrunched together, and her lips were pursed, but tumbling to meet her fate, she had never looked more ethereal, like an angel cast out of heaven (if Draco believed in that sort of thing). The white ruffles of her blouse were the wings, and her hair shimmered in the light like a halo, framing her face.

Draco caught himself and waved his wand quickly, saving her two feet before she hit the floor. She landed on a cushion of magic, her hair still splayed around like leaves on a pond's surface. Her eyes came open just as Draco approached, planting a smirk on his handsome face to hide the mixed bag of confusion coursing through his veins.

With a raspy, low voice he managed out, "See? Nothing to it."

Granger's face flushed as he offered out a hand for her to take; and take it she did, albeit with hesitation.

As Draco pulled her to her feet, his eyes drifted down to her cleavage, suddenly thinking of Blaise's comment earlier today. Though he wouldn't tell Blaise, he did find an answer to the question -they did, indeed, jiggle. They were as real as the sudden aridness of Draco's tongue as he released her hand and looked back to their dance coach.

"That wasn't so difficult. What's next?"

* * *

 **More comedy to come! Stay tuned!**  
**~A.**


	6. It Takes Two

**So excited for this chapter! It gets a bit sensual, but where and how I will not say!**   
**Thank you, Sam Wallflower, for proofing my Spanish and teaching me a few things! Thank you LightofEvolution for helping me further this plot, and believing in it today once I told you the plans for the fic. XD**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and followed. XD**   
**~A.**

****

* * *

**"Great things never came from comfort zones."**   
**Rajat Dogra**

* * *

Malfoy wore the most peculiar look about him as Hermione was pulled to her feet -his expression was somewhere between annoyance (probably from having to help her up) and bewilderment. All of it was smuggled under a thick, stoic poker-face, but she'd grown up with him well enough to know when Malfoy was unsettled. But what could have possibly egged it on?

"That wasn't so difficult," he said, a slight edge to his tone. "What's next?" Malfoy looked expectantly to the instructor.

Señor Diggle wiggled his mustache, most likely for show, and beckoned them close with a wave of his hand as Greg transfigured the staircase back into a chair. " _Maravilloso_. Each day, before practice, you will complete five trust falls a piece."

Hermione and Malfoy exchanged wary glances before nodding in compliance. If there was one thing to be said about it, they hadn't let each other splat to the ground. That was something, she surmised. Next, the pair watched as Señor Diggle walked over to a small trunk near the door and produced one long strip of black cloth, possibly made from silk. He waved it in the air to show it off and approached them, grinning ear to ear. "Do either of you know what this is?" he sing-songed, the white of his teeth extra pearly against the luminescence of the room.

"It's a strip of rag," Malfoy answered, crossing his arms. "Are we supposed to be impressed?"

"This is a _venda-"_

"-A blindfold!" Hermione intejerected. She _might_ have put her Spanish skills to the test last night while reading Latin erotica…

"¡ _Exacto_!"

"Why in Merlin's name would we need a blindfold?" Malfoy asked, raising one of his sculpted eyebrows. "Wait, you're not one of those kinky establishments that lures unassuming, sexually attractive wizards and witches into your clutches to take advantage of them, are you?"

Greg, from the other side of the room, snorted before he began to double over, laughing. Hermione was on the verge of asking Malfoy if he'd read any erotica lately when Señor Diggle waggled his eyebrows in unison with his mustache and exclaimed, "No! I should say not!"

Malfoy turned the color of a ripe tomato and cleared his throat. "Oh. Erm… continue, then."

"If I might be so bold, one could almost deduce you're mildly disappointed," Hermione mused teasingly, making Malfoy's head snap in her direction, his grey eyes boring into the side of her head like drills ready to turn her brain to soup. Greg howled with laughter from across the room.

" _De todas formas_ ," said Diggle, "The _venda_ is magically equipped to be removed after a set time, and not a moment before."

"Why on Earth would we wear it?" Hermione asked, more curious and skeptical than ever. When Diggle gave her an unfavorable look, she added, "What does it have to do with dancing?"

"The reason neither of you are particularly graceful stems from the your lack of trust within your own bodies. Learning to give into your body's natural intuition is the first step in becoming a true _bailarín_."

"You mean for us to dance with that rubbish over our eyes?" snarled Malfoy.

"If you intend on furthering your education, _sí_."

Hermione, eager to please, said at once, "I'll go first, if it's all the same," but Malfoy stepped between her and Diggle, arrogant in his tone as he interjected, "No, no, no, Granger. Don't get so eager to be teacher's pet." He thrust out his hand and snatched the blindfold away from Diggle. "How does this bloody thing work?"

"Once you tie it on your head, the _venda_ will remain there for fifteen minutes. No less, no more. In that time, your partner will guide you along, however they wish to proceed with dancing. The goal is not the steps today, but the trust. In yourselves and each other."

"But she won't be my normal dancing partner," sneered Malfoy, giving Hermione a once over with scrutinization.

"Until you have caught up to the class, she will be," Señor Diggle proclaimed, turning to face his son. "Don't you have _la lección_ in studio _tres_?"

Greg's face fell into a sort of muffled agitation, and he nodded. "Yes…" He picked himself up off the wall he leaned on and approached Hermione. "If it's any consolation, I'd have a hard time trusting him, too," he whispered to where only she could here. With a wink, he strolled out the door, but not before mocking his father's graceful, over exaggerated bow. " _Hasta la próxima vez, preciosa_."

Malfoy was already tying the blindfold when Hermione felt her cheeks warm, thinking to herself the Spanish language sounded quite rewarding from Greg's lips. However, she found it completely unbecoming to flirt with Greg, considering who his father was, and she shoved her attraction to him deep, deep down. He was physically charming, yes, but she had no idea what sort of brain he had, aside from a lighthearted sense of humor. As her mother used to say, _brains not brawn, make sure you get on!_

"Holy Harpies, this thing gets tight," muttered Malfoy as the blindfold secured itself snugly to his head.

"Are we all set?" asked Diggle, ushering Hermione to reach out. Malfoy had his hands stuck out, fumbling around, so she grasped his arm and straightened him out.

"Ready?" she asked, securing one hand to her waist and the other in her palm.

Malfoy snorted in response. "About as ready as I'll ever be, being forced to dance with you... "

"Don't be such a baby. Alright, right foot back," she commanded, to which Malfoy did so diligently, though stiff. She attempted to lead him across the dancefloor, but guiding Malfoy was much like guiding a drunken goat. He stumbled, he stubbornly refused help, and he nearly crashed twice into Señor Diggle, only stopping short because Hermione yanked him out of the way.

"Merlin's pants, Granger! Has anyone ever told you you're shite at leading?"

"¡ _Cuidadito con lo que dices_!"

"I'll have you know, when I went back to Hogwarts to finish my education, I received the Hogwarts Medal of Leadership Award," she replied.

"Sounds like something they made up to appease your tyranny… OW!" Malfoy gasped as Hermione, purposefully, stepped directly on his big toe. "You make the term 'two left feet' sound like a literal occurrence."

"Señor Malfoy, concentrate!" Diggle instructed. "Trust in your partner. Trust in your own body, as well as hers."

Malfoy smirked, and she could only imagine the amusement dancing behind that blindfold as he muttered, "I can trust myself very much when I'm inside a willing witch... AH!" This time, he received three swats on the back of the head from Hermione, followed by a tsk.

"You're about to be _married_ , Malfoy. Isn't that sort of talk beneath you?"

"Astoria's the willing witch, you harpie!"

A knock came from the door around the same time that the blindfold released its magical hold on Malfoy, and he ripped it off his face just in time for Greg to poke his head through the door.

" _Disculpa, papá_."

"¿Sí?"

"Missus Aeris won't stop pinching her partner's bum during lessons…Namely me. I'm the partner."

"She is a handsy woman, isn't she? _Ya voy_." Señor Diggle turned to Hermione and Malfoy. "Excuse me one moment. Carry on!" And with that, he followed his son out the door, shutting it with a firm _click._

"Maybe we should hold off until he returns…" Malfoy began, but Hermione had already started to wrap the blindfold around her head, determined to do exactly as instructed and carry on. The cloth was soft, and it was still warm from Malfoy's body heat, so it wasn't nearly as disconcerting as she imagined it would be. With her arms extended, she felt around until ran a hand over Malfoy's face. "Hello…" he drawled in a bored, irritated way as he brought her arms down to her sides.

"Let's begin," she said, smiling (hopefully) in his direction. To her relief, Malfoy guided her arms up around his neck, though they were set further apart, near the shoulders.

"A Waltz alright with you?" he asked, so close Hermione could feel his warm breath ghost her cheek. It provoked a heat along her cheeks, scattering down her jaw and neck. Good heavens, he smelled lovely up close and personal. Inwardly, she scolded herself for noticing, instead giving a firm nod in agreement. "Great, 'cause that's all I know off the top of my head," he admitted, adding, "Now I'll show you how a _real_ leader leads…"

"Redundant, much?" she quipped back, eyebrows knitting together beneath the blindfold.

"Shut it. I don't need to be articulate around _you_. You're not worth the effort."

"Lovely… Astoria must be _so_ lucky to have such a polite gentleman in her midst."

Malfoy ignored her, taking to guiding her around the floor for some short minutes. A comfortable silence fell between them, and it grew easier to follow his lead. Much to Hermione's amazement, when he wasn't spouting out insults or showing off, he seemed far more confident. Perhaps running his mouth was a defense mechanism? She'd suspected as much back in their school days, but moving in time with Malfoy now confirmed it.

"I find it interesting how our first lesson is nearly complete for the evening, and we've yet to learn one move from the Tango," said Malfoy, finally, his face closer to Hermione than she anticipated. Her hands tightened around his shoulders automatically: a physical response to being so close to someone the opposite gender. Even if it was a _Malfoy_ …

Lost in her thoughts, Hermione stumbled forward, grasping him tighter for support. Malfoy chuckled, obviously enjoying her clumsiness. She wasn't sure if telling him to go jump in the Black Lake would do anything to their partnership, so she bit her tongue and thought about a proper response to his earlier stimulant at conversation.

Thinking of Ginny, she smirked and said, in her best impersonation of the redheaded witch, "You shouldn't question such a prestigious and innovative dance coach!"

Malfoy, to her delight, caught on and snorted a laugh. In what she guessed was an impression of Astoria, he heightened the pitch of his voice and uttered, "He _is_ the world's most renowned dance instructor, after all!"

There was a beat, and then the two began laughing, enjoying the degradation of their dance coach. If there was one thing Hermione secretly enjoyed, it was poking fun at eccentricities. She thought of Diggle's handlebar mustache and found herself cackling wildly.

"Do you think we'll be made to grow mustaches too, eventually?"

"Oh, I would assume," mused Malfoy, "I'm fairly certain that's all a part of the deluxe package he's signed us up for…" He paused, bringing them both to a halt. "What if we're not nearly as bad as he claims, and this is all some sort of scam to get more of our money?"

Hermione sniggered. "Oh, believe me, Malfoy. You're as bad as he says. Worse, even."

She noticed Malfoy wasn't laughing anymore. Oh dear… perhaps she might have run her mouth a bit too hastily… _well, he shouldn't have given me such wonderful material to work with!_

"Well," he said, quiet and near deadly, "If I'm that bad, I can only imagine what he must say about you behind closed doors." Suddenly, she was jerked forward, led on by his gruff display of 'dancing'. Hermione tried to follow, but he was purposefully changing the speed, keeping her off balance and unable to keep up. His movements were rough and precise, and Hermione stumbled.

"You're going to fast," she snapped.

"You're going too slow. Keep up, now. They way you talk about yourself, you're already top of the class."

Hermione, despite not being able to see, found his toe and jammed it under her heel. "There's two of us! Of course I am!"

Malfoy released her, taking a few steps back.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?'"

'"If you're so good, why don't you come find me, then?" he taunted her; the sounds of his shoes could be heard echoing around the walls. That was, until he cast a silencing charm on them. Then, Hermione couldn't hear a _damned thing_ , aside from his voice.

"Malfoy, this isn't funny."

"Do you hear me laughing?" His voice bounced around, distorting his location.

"I can only imagine that haughty smirk written all over that smug face of yours…" Hermione sighed, attempting to find him. It didn't help that the walls echoed, so any time he laughed or chided, "Hotter! Oh, no. Colder… honestly are you any good at this?" it distorted the sound. Frustrated, she tried to rip off the blindfold, even though she knew it was useless. Her hands thrust out and felt around. "Malfoy…!"

"Ask nicely, Granger," he taunted. Hermione realized he was very close -practically behind her. She whirled around and grasped out -

"AHA!" Her hands came in contact with firm muscle and unimaginably soft material, fingers entangling in the softness of a shirt. Malfoy's shirt. Goodness, was this really Malfoy? Beneath the confines of this material, he was surprisingly muscular… Could this be Greg, instead? _Him_ she could understand… But, no. There was that intoxicating cologne tickling her senses, solidifying this was, indeed, Malfoy.

"Let go, Granger," he grumbled, his voice a mixture of gravel and ice. "You're stretching the material." Malfoy's fingers wrapped around her wrists and pried her off of him, bringing her hands down to her sides. Undeniably close in proximity, Hermione became acutely aware of the heat of his body.

There was a pause.

"Well, if you weren't so Hell bent on torturing me, I wouldn't be reaching out to grab you and stretch out your shirt."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Malfoy drawled. "Have you seen me? I'm fairly irresistible."

Hermione rolled her eyes beneath her blindfold, thinking that even if Malfoy smelled delectable, his attitude more than tipped the scales out of his favor. Deciding she was done with him, she jerked out of his grasp and stumbled back -too far back! "OH!" Her arms flailed, but two, large hands wrapped around her torso and pulled her upright, yanking her back into a standing position.

 _THUD_. Her face hit his chest, cheek pressed up against hard pectorals. She felt her heart stammer in her ears in time with the pounding in his sternum. Hermione clung to his shoulders, unable to see his face; she imagined it was either irritated or shocked, judging by his heart elevation. That's when she noticed…

"Malfoy… Erm… your hand."

"Hmm?"

"It's… on my…"

She could feel one of his hands at the small of her back, flexing.

"Not that one," she grumbled.

It took Malfoy a moment to move his other hand, squeezing her bum as if he were checking to see exactly what body part he'd managed to latch onto. "Oh…" he whispered. "OH." He gave one more squeeze, likely to confirm.

"If you value that hand," she seethed, "I recommend letting go."

"Shite…" Malfoy immediately retracted his hand and stepped back, causing Hermione to stumble forward to the floor.

"Circe!" she exclaimed.

"Shite," he said again, realizing his mistake. He reached out and helped her up to her feet. "Apologies, Granger. I didn't mean to…"

Hermione couldn't help it -she imagined his befuddled face and red cheeks, and she laughed into her hands. "I think I've seen it all!"

"Come again?"

"You apologized," she pointed out.

"Oh. Erm… yes. I did have my hand on your… you know what? Forget it ever happened."

"Already forgotten about," she said. To keep the awkward silence from rising again, she asked, "So… if you're terrible at dancing, why are you so committed to learning how? It doesn't seem your heart is really in it."

"It isn't… but Astoria's is. And I'd like to think I'd make a right enough husband to learn one bloody dance."

Hermione bit her lower lip. "That's… actually very sweet."

" _Hmph_. What about you?"

"Why am I dancing when I have no coordination whatsoever?"

"Yes."

She thought about it. "I guess it's my inability to admit when I've been defeated. Gryffindor, and all." After a moment, she added, "How far along is Daphne?"

Malfoy sounded as if he choked on an every flavored bean. "W-What? How'd you-"

"Oh, was quite bloated, wasn't she? And there was a slight widening of her hips. It's an easy indicator."

"Is it…?" he asked, astounded.

"Yes! DId you know, to prepare the pelvis for delivery, the hormone Relaxin is released during pregnancy to help relax the pelvic joints and ligaments as well as soften and widen, so they'll become _even wider_ -"

"Okay, gods, Granger. That's quite enough." Malfoy sounded entirely horrified. "She isn't that far along, anyway… though I did tell her she looked as if she'd gotten puffy." Silence, and then, "You can't tell a soul!"

"Why not?" she asked, confused. "Is it a secret?"

"Just promise me you won't say anything to anyone, alright? Promise me, Granger." He sounded desperate. "Blaise and Daphne don't want anyone finding out for the time being."

Though she couldn't understand why it was so damned important, she said, "Alright, Malfoy. Alright. Keep your knickers on, _please_. I won't tell anyone."

"Everything alright?" Señor Diggle's cheerful voice beckoned as the door opened with a click.

"Peachy…" Malfoy grouched. Hermione reached up to the blindfold, finding it loose once again.

"Perfect timing," said Diggle, "Lessons are over for the day!"

Malfoy slumped against the wall. "Thank Merlin." It took Hermione a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the light, but when they did she saw she and Malfoy were standing ever so close to each other. Interesting, she thought. She was the one with the blindfold, unable to sense how far away he was from her, but he was perfectly able to distance himself at will.

"I'm meeting Astoria for dinner at her parents," Malfoy said, pushing past her. Their shoulders bumped, and Hermione felt a warm trickle of heat flow down her spine. "I'll… see you next lesson."

"Right," she agreed, refusing to turn around and look at him. "See you."

* * *

' _You mustn't tell a soul,' the soft caress of a man's voice lingered in her ear, his hands sliding down her sides as if she were a Christmas gift he couldn't wait to unwrap. Hermione couldn't see his face; a blindfold kept his appearance a secret as his fingers moved along her thighs, pulling her against him, back to front. 'Can you keep a secret?'_

' _Mmm...mhmm…' she replied, breathless. Her voice echoed off the walls, distorting the tone. 'Please, quit teasing me.'_

_The man's voice was soothing but aggressive as he whispered, 'But we both know you love it. Both know how much you need it. You like being told what to do, don't you, little witch?'_

_Suddenly, she was jerked around, chest to chest with him, his hands finding a comfortable stance at the base of her spine. Soft lips pulled at her earlobe before it was caught between teeth, tugging and nipping. Hermione's senses went wild, and her mouth fell open while she gasped. The man's hands traveled lower, to her ass, giving each cheek a possessive squeeze. Oh, that felt quite wonderful. Hermione's head tilted back, and he began to devour her neck in a flurry of sensual kisses._

_Before she knew it, she was being jerked up by her ass cheeks, her legs wrapping around his middle as her skirt bunched up over her thighs. She could already feel the firmness in his crotch, and her knickers flooded with a gush of wetness. Her arms came around his neck, and she pulled him in for a lavish, erotic kiss that had them both groaning in desperation for more. The man's lips were velvet against hers, and his tongue was just as impressive as it snaked over her bottom lip, demanding entrance. Hermione's mouth parted, and he darted that tongue inside, coaxing a moan from her throat as he pulled her even tighter to him. He tasted of mints and smelled of sandalwood and parchment… oh, goodness, his scent was divine. His hair was even softer than his lips, she surmised, as she entangled her fingers in his tresses and gave them a light pull. Not enough to hurt, but certainly enough to gain his attention._

' _Careful,' he whispered, catching her upper lip between her teeth and tugging before licking it tenderly. 'If you keep that up, I'll be feeding you my cock against the wall.'_

' _Is that a bad thing?' she giggled, reaching up to pull the blindfold off, but it wouldn't be budged. Damn it. She really wanted to see his face…_

' _It is when the entire classroom down the hall could hear us,' he replied. 'Oh, to Hell with it.'_

_Hermione was briskly slammed up against the nearest wall -judging by its coldness and smoothness, she deduced it was a mirror. The man set her down carefully, though it didn't match the rhythm of his tongue lapping hungrily against her pulse point. When she was on her feet, she felt him guide one of her hands to his neck while the other rested in his. His free hand snaked down to her thighs, pulling them apart. Somehow, her skirt was now missing. When he was convinced her legs were properly spread, he teasingly ran his fingers up the crease of her thigh, his thumb gliding over her Mons Venus before resting comfortably against her pulsing clit._

' _Oh, dear, Miss Granger,' he teased. 'It appears you have a bad dancing form.'_

' _Do I?' she asked, biting her lower lip as his thumb began to trace her clit in delicate circles. 'Mmh… f-uck…'_

' _Indeed,' he laughed seductively, moving his hand away to replace it with his leg, which he brushed directly against her wet knickers. She practically sat on it as he pushed her up, and Hermione couldn't help but grind against it, desperate for the friction. 'Here, now,' he said, moving his leg to give her what she desired. Hermione felt her back arch, and it pressed her breasts against his chest as she gasped for breath. 'Oh, no. Your posture gets worse and worse…' He removed his leg, and Hermione groaned. That was, until she felt him fall to his knees in front of her, hair brushing against her stomach as he kissed the edge of her lacy knickers._

' _Yes,' she encouraged._

' _Posture,' he reminded her, and Hermione struggled to stand straight, bringing her legs together. Large hands crawled up her thighs before thumbs looped through her knickers and, at a snail's pace, tugged them down, down, down to her ankles. 'Yum... ' he laughed against her swollen bud, 'Like a fresh peach ripe enough for me to…' and then his tongue was between her folds, against her clit, and Hermione saw stars._

' _Mmm… yes… God...right there…. Fu-u-uck!' Her hands wove through his hair again. 'Fuck,yesss… Draco-'_

* * *

**Stage Right: Hermione Granger -War Hero and terrible dancer  
Setting: Her flat, on the sofa, in front of the TV**

* * *

Hermione awoke with a start, covered in a slick sheen of sweat, still calling out the latter part of his name. She looked around to the TV, where a Golden Girls marathon was still playing. She saw the bowl of cereal off to the side, and caught her hands down her pajama pants, doing Lord knew what when she realized… "Oh, sweet baby dragons."

* * *

**If you liked it, leave a review!**

**For those of you wondering, no. Draco will not cheat. That's all I can say.  
~A.**


	7. Dragon Delights

**My apologies for the tardiness. Was uber sick for a while and couldn't write anything. Then I had to play catch up with my stories! But here I am!**  
Thank you LightofEvolution for your input, ideas, and beta'ing! (Hearts)  
~A.

****

* * *

**"Dancing is like dreaming with your feet."  
~Constanze Mozart**

* * *

**Center Stage: Hermione Granger**   
**Setting: Hermione's flat, downtown London**

* * *

Splashing cool water in her face, Hermione tried to shake her mind from the memories of her dream to no avail. The clock hanging on her kitchen wall read _2:34am_. Heaven's bells, she had work in the morning, but she was too shaken to fall asleep again.

In all honesty, Hermione was forced to admit she'd dreamed about none other than Draco Lucius Malfoy, arrogant heir to the pureblood dynasty and _soon-to-be-married_ twat. The things he did to her -and how real it felt- left a conflictual bruise on her psyche.

 _Well,_ she thought to herself as she struggled to find the logic, _Think about the events that transpired. Dreams are simply representations of what's on someone's mind. I obviously spent a great deal of time with him..._ Yes, that had to be it! She'd spent the majority of her afternoon literally _falling_ into the arms of the taken man. There had been a close, physical proximity, not to mention the intimacy of dancing blindfolded, which _would_ explain the lack of sight in the dream.

Oh, but why did it have to be about _Malfoy?_ Couldn't it have been about Greg Diggle instead? She was a confident woman and no stranger to sex; after all, winning the War had brought out a new, exploratory side to the young woman. She and Ron had 'sewn their wild oats' so to speak, trying out every Kamasutra book she could find. So the fact she was having some wild sex fantasy wasn't even the problem. She'd had plenty of those, especially since she wasn't getting any as of late.

It was the fact that it was of _Draco Malfoy._ Draco. Bloody. Malfoy. Well, there was a physical attraction, sure. The man had a strong, chiseled jaw, the cheekbones of a greek god, and those eyes…they couldn't possibly be natural, could they? At least, not without a bit of magic added to the genome... _Strong jaw. Pretty eyes. He has a nice symmetry to his face and body… from what is visible... and he's got a fair complexion, and I have a darker one, and we always subconsciously look for a partner who is our opposite so our offspring is as healthy as possible…_ Okay, maybe she should take a break on the Discovery Channel for a moment. Any way I spin it, _it's no wonder a sexually active (okay, inactive) witch like me would find him arousing._

But he was a _taken_ man. Hermione was NOT the kind of witch who coveted other people's trophy husbands. She knew her self-worth, thank you very much.

Perhaps she was ovulating, and her body was simply looking for a potential mating partner?

Okay, seriously. No more Discovery Channel -because even _that_ thought left a bitter taste in her mouth when her subconscious brought up a _very_ horrifying thought: if she was looking for a partner, why wouldn't she be fantasizing about Ron? He was a perfectly logical choice -timid and kind; the type of partner one could count on to raise children correctly. And she _had_ said he was perfect for a future...again, if she were honest, she'd admit Ron just wasn't as handsome as Draco Malfoy.

Oh, dear Circe. _What_ had she just thought?

 _Well, in that case,_ said her logical side, _Greg Diggle is every bit as handsome as Malfoy, and you didn't blink an eye once in your dream about him._

Yes, but she didn't _know_ Greg, did she? He was a complete wildcard!

_And you know Draco Malfoy all that much better?_

Good point, subconscious. Good point.

Hermione decided breaking out the expensive scotch Harry left around her apartment for nights he wanted to stop by might be in her best interest. She _accio_ 'd a tumbler glass from the top shelf and the scotch from the top of the fridge before having a seat at her quaint dining room table and pouring herself a sip... okay, maybe half a glass.

One full glass later, Hermione was slightly tipsy and still no closer to figuring out why she was fantasizing about _him._

* * *

**Stage Left: Hermione Granger**   
**Setting: Ministry of Magic, Hermione's office.**

* * *

Work was tedious. While she would return to university in autumn, the summer led to working thirty hours a week at the Ministry, taking pro bono cases for house elves who were recently liberated and helping them acquire housing for themselves as well as their families. It still baffled wizards that house elves would have families, which appalled Hermione to no end; how did wizards think house elves reproduced? By spawning? She rolled her eyes nearly every time a wizard or witch stared slack jawed at her when she described her area of expertise.

However, today was a dull day. She'd won her last three cases, as per the usual Hermione way, and today was spent filing paperwork. It usually excited her to check off boxes and filling out correct forms, but staying up half the night had taken its toll on Hermione Granger. She was exhausted, and soon, her eyes grew heavy, and she rested her cheek on the desk for _just_ a moment to give her mind a rest…

* * *

_"What's the matter, Granger? Don't you trust me?" a warm, inviting voice beckoned as a pair of warm lips brushed against her ear. His arms were around her, pressing her back into his frame. His fingers were entwined with hers while he peppered her jaw and neck with lazy, seductive kisses. "We can fall together. You'll be safe."_

_Hermione glanced down to the pillar they both stood on, surrounded by a stunning black void. "I can't trust you," she whispered, gasping when his teeth grazed hungrily at her shoulder, nipping here and there. Once again, she was in her underwear, vulnerable and exposed. And judging from the skin on skin contact she felt, he was just the same. The only thing between her bum and his hardening cock was their undergarments. Hermione didn't need to turn around to know whose prick was pressed tight against her; the pale, manicured hands in hers told all._

_"So don't trust me," he taunted, unraveling their fingers to slide one hand slowly down her abdomen to the top of her panties. "Just fall with me."_

_Hermione turned her head to protest, but when she did she found a pair of warm, silky lips against hers. Her eyes fell closed as she gave in to the luxurious feel of his tongue as it glided over her bottom lip. His hand traveled lower, finding the sensitive button that nearly made her legs collapse upon his touch. Her panties were already soaked through, begging for his body. Draco Malfoy chuckled as he rubbed his index finger in slow, teasing circles while running the rest of his fingers down her slickened folds._

_Gasping into his mouth, she leaned against him, noting the way his cock brushed against her bum in the most tantalizing of ways. He rolled his hips forward purposefully while dipping his middle finger into her and trading his index finger out for his thumb to continue to stimulate her throbbing clit. Hermione's nipples hardened in delight, excited by the development. The way he touched her was like nothing she'd ever experienced; every movement was deliberate and knowing. Every kiss commanded her attention. No, the man couldn't dance worth a fig, but he certainly could play her body like a violin, knowing just where to apply pressure or pull at her flesh. The hand still entwined with hers slid their hands up her stomach and forced her to cup her own covered breast. Malfoy squeezed around her small fingers, telling her just how to touch herself while he toyed with her._

_"So wet for me," he purred. "I dare you to fall with me."_

_"I can't," she whispered, opening her eyes; for the first time, his face came into focus clear as day. It was a mistake, because the raw intensity burning inside of those silver-flecked irises took all of her resolve and tossed it out the nearest window -or, to be more precise, over the precipice they found themselves standing on. Malfoy had never looked so ethereal. There was a playful challenge in his eyes as he whispered back, "You can."_

_And then they were falling back, off the edge, his lips on hers and her body completely at his mercy-_

* * *

"Hermione. _Hermione._ "

"Hmm? What?" Hermione Granger awoke with a jolt, one of her forms pasted to her face by a thick trail of drool which had dribbled to the side of her mouth. Her eyes came open with a start, meeting the pondering face of Harry James Potter, who stood in her office doorway. Horrified, Hermione peeled the paper quickly off her face and tucked it inside her desk. "Harry!"

"Hermione!" he said with the same inflection, half mocking her with a side smirk playing well across his lips. He uncrossed his arms and gave a lighthearted chuckle. "Pleasant dream, I take it?"

"What?" Hermione asked, eyes widening.

"You, erm, were...moaning."

" _Moaning?"_ she gasped.

"Just a bit." Harry tried to play it cool, reaching up to run his nimble fingers through his hair. "Of course, with you, it could have been anything, right? Maybe you were dreaming of a library, or winning a big case, or...You know what? I'm going to pretend it was that. Does that sound good to you?"

With an airy sigh, Hermione nodded. "Please. Let's."

"Great." Harry gave a nervous laugh and tried again. "I was wondering if you wanted to grab some lunch? Ron's out of town on joke shop business, and Gin's got that interview with Witch Weekly about signing on with the Harpies…"

"Gee, you sure know how to make a girl feel special," Hermione teased, shutting her planner. "Lunch sounds great, Harry. I'll just gather my things and meet you outside in a moment?"

"Sure." Harry gave her one last apologetic wave and took his leave. When the door shut with a _click_ , Hermione gave a relieved sigh and smacked her palm to her forehead.

"These dreams _need_ to go away," she muttered to herself. "One way or another, I'm going to put an end to them."

* * *

**Stage Right: Hermione and Harry**   
**Setting: Diagon Alley**

* * *

"Harry…" Hermione began, not paying attention as Harry brought his freshly sliced deli sandwich to his lips, "Do you have erotic dreams?"

Harry Potter had just bitten into his turkey on rye when she finished her question, and it caused him to choke on the bread and meat. He coughed, beating a fist against his chest to dislodge the half-chewed sandwich in his mouth before spitting it into his napkin. "Erm -sorry. _What?_ "

"You know," she said, clearly not getting the message of his shocked expression, "Erotic dreams? Also known as 'wet dreams' or 'nocturnal erocticism'-"

"No, I gathered that," he interrupted, taking a swig of his butterbeer to drown the embarrassment. "I mean... no, I know what you mean, Hermione. What I don't understand is why you're asking me in the middle of my favorite deli shop and ruining its innocence…"

"Oh." Hermione blinked. "I didn't think of it that way." She gave a brief pause. "But have you, though?"

Harry set his face in his hands to hide the blush. He eked out, "Yeah, Hermione...I think everyone has them."

"I know _that._ Let me rephrase," she cleared her throat.

"I really wish you wouldn't," muttered Harry.

"Have you ever had an erotic dream that surprised you? Like, the person involved in it? Someone you weren't expecting?" She attempted to keep her voice lower, as not to bring attention to them.

Harry's face, now dusted in a light shade of magenta, contorted into an impish grin. "Well, um, now that I think of it...there was this one time, back in Hogwarts, where I...you have to promise not to laugh."

Hermione was excited! She leaned forward and rested her chin on her palm. "Oh? Go on!"

"Promise."

"Yes, yes. I promise." She waved her other hand dismissively.

"Okay." Harry closed his eyes, inhaled, and on his exhale whispered, "I once had a very...erotic dream...about...Moaning Myrtle."

It was hard to stifle the fit of laughter that wanted to tumble out of her mouth, but Hermione made due. "M-Moaning Myrtle?" She sniggered into her hand. "Seriously, Harry?"

"I was fourteen!" he pointed an accusing finger at her. "She'd just helped me with the second clue with the egg... I don't know. I blame it on my teenage hormones." With a definitive sigh, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, his turkey sandwich completely forgotten about. "Not even Ginny knows about that one, so don't go spreading it around."

"Why doesn't Ginny know?"

"Could you imagine how that would go? She'd either hex me or laugh at me until I died of mortification," Harry rolled his eyes. "Though, I did tell Ron, once."

"What did he have to say?"

"He wanted to know if it was cold."

After a long pause, the two friends began to laugh wildly, startling those in the booth behind them.

"Why do you ask, Hermione?" Harry said once he was calm enough to catch his breath.

Hermione picked up her butterbeer, took a small swig, and realized all her laughter died away. "I've been having some...dreams. Pleasant ones."

"Like when I walked in on you in your office earlier?" Harry smirked. Hermione picked up a biscuit from the table and tossed it at him; it hit him clean in the chest, scattering crumbs all over his robes.

"Something like that," she admitted, hiding behind her mug to prevent him from seeing the dust of red on her cheeks. "But they aren't conventional."

"Kinky?"

Hermione's eyes went wide. "No!" she giggled. "No, well… I mean… maybe. A little bit. -But that's not what has me asking questions." It was her turn to point a finger, waving it at him like Molly Weasley when scolding. "It's _who_ I'm having fun with in the dreams."

Harry nodded, considerable. After a moment, he blurted out, "It isn't me, is it?"

Not being able to resist, she licked her lips and sent him a saucy wink. Harry paled. Hermione stuck out her tongue. "Believe it or not, Harry, not all of us fantasize about The Chosen One."

"Ha _ha._ " Harry grinned. "Well, I guess you could figure it goes one of two ways; either you're attracted to whoever you're fantasizing about, or it's just one of those weird moments, and it probably won't happen again."

 _But it's happened twice now,_ she wanted to say. "Thank you for stating the obvious, Harry."

"Anytime," he winked, picking his sandwich back up, finding his appetite again.

* * *

Half an hour later, Hermione was no closer to figuring out why she'd fantasized about Draco Malfoy _twice_ now when she and Harry left the deli shop on the way back to publicly floo to the Ministry. Diagon Alley was bustling today, and karma must have had a hand in what happened next, because just as she and Harry turned the corner on the way to the open floo network inside Flourish and Blotts, Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy came around the other side, having just come from the floos. The two pairs nearly ran smack dab into each other -in fact, Hermione and Malfoy collided with each other and knocked each other off balance.

"Watch where you're going," Malfoy sneered automatically, but when he saw it was Hermione, is eyes went slightly wider than normal and he muttered out, "My apologies."

"Miss Granger," said Astoria at once, a chipper sound to her voice as she extended a gloved hand in Hermione's direction, "I don't think we've been properly introduced. Astoria Greengrass." As Hermione reluctantly shook the woman's hand, Astoria gave a little curtsy and eyed Harry up and down curiously. "Oh my. And a Mister Potter. So lovely to finally meet you." She extended her hand to obviously be kissed, but Harry didn't get the gesture. Instead, he reached out and shook it the same way Hermione had.

"Hello," he gave a half-formal bow. "Astoria, right?"

"Yes!" Astoria giggled. " _The_ Harry Potter, remembering my name. Draco tells me you all went to school together."

Draco Malfoy stood stoic next to his bride-to-be, eyeing Hermione every half-moment. Harry's eyes met with Malfoy's, to which Malfoy muttered out, "Potter."

"Malfoy," Harry nodded curtly.

"Granger," Malfoy said next, staring at Hermione's hair instead of her actual face. He didn't look a thing like in her dreams -much to her dismay, he looked even better. "Did you just roll out of bed?"

"No," she asked, taken aback. "Why?"

He eyed her curls a bit more, shrugged, and gave her a taunting smirk. "No reason."

Suddenly self-conscious about her hair, Hermione turned her attention back on Astoria, who was busy bantering away, unaware at her future husband's uncomfortableness.

"It's actually fate that must have led us all here," she was saying, "because I was going to personally extend an invitation to our wedding to both of you."

"Uh… you were?" Harry asked, rather blunt.

"Yes," said Astoria without missing a beat, "I figure since your girlfriend, Miss Granger, and I all attend the same dance class together, and my _dear_ Draco is forced to take extra dance lessons with Miss Granger-"

"-Astoria, _really_ ," Malfoy scowled, crossing his arms like a two-year-old.

"-It seems only fitting _the_ Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ginny Weasley attend the event of the year! Namely -our wedding." Astoria leaned up and kissed Malfoy's cheek. He gave a smile, though it appeared forced as if he knew it was routine to do so, but he'd much rather tuck tail and run.

"Oh. Um… Thanks." Harry nodded. "I'll tell Gin."

"Splendid." Next, Astoria turned her eyes on Hermione. "And of course, you're encouraged to bring a plus one." Her mouth curled in a smile, but it didn't appear sincere. "I'm sure there is a plus one, isn't there, Miss Granger? Or may I call you Hermione?"

The question floored the brunette, who could only shrug in reply.

"Wonderful!" Astoria clapped her hands. "Even if you don't have an _official_ plus one, a woman like yourself has all the boys wrapped around her finger, if the newspapers are any reference." She gestured to Harry as an example.

Hermione saw red. How _dare_ Astoria insinuate anything between Harry and herself? Or did she mean her to be a tomboy? Either way, she felt rather miffed about it all.

"Astoria," said Malfoy, patting his future wife on the shoulder, "We have that appointment with the cake decorator in ten minutes… perhaps we should go." He nodded to Harry. "Potter." His eyes trailed over Hermione's attire, and he raised an eyebrow. "Granger." And with that, he escorted Astoria past the two friends and toward the door. Hermione watched on, and at the last moment, he turned his head back around and, dare she imagine it, rolled his eyes as if to say, 'That's just Astoria.' Then they were gone.

"Invited to a Malfoy wedding," muttered Harry, shaking his head. "Never thought I'd see the day, hmm, Hermione?"

But Hermione was too transfixed on imagining that pale, blond aristocrat with his hands down her knickers to think straight and give him an answer.

* * *

**Center Stage: Hermione, the Weasleys, and Harry**   
**Setting: The Burrow**

* * *

Bollocks to Draco Malfoy! Two days had passed, and tomorrow would be the weekly lesson with Señor Diggle's entire dance class. If she was going to face Malfoy again, she needed to prove to herself these sexual fantasies (which had multiplied to two more erotic dreams as of late) were just a manifestation of being around an attractive wizard and nothing more. She wanted to prove to herself that, under the right circumstances, the effect could be duplicated using an equally enticing male.

As it so happened, luck found her in the form of offering to clean Molly Weasley's gutters at the Weasley family reunion. Harry and Hermione had been invited because, according to Molly and Arthur, they were just as much a part of the family as any of them.

But, waiting on Fleur and Bill proved Molly was a perfectionist, and she set Ginny and Hermione to work tidying the gutters while Ron and Harry were in charge of cleaning up the outside bricks.

Hermione devised a last minute plan -perhaps falling to Malfoy's arms had stirred a physical need for intimacy within her, and since he was the last man to hold her close to him, it could explain why she couldn't get him out of her head. So, if she repeated the same trust fall in the arms of a worthier partner, she might be able to fix her dreams to someone better suited.

Ron Weasley had no idea what to expect when he was asked to hold the ladder for her, and when Hermione fell back, she expected him to catch her with the same finesse as Draco Malfoy -but Ron Weasley wasn't Draco Malfoy. He caught her yes -with a scream of shock and forcing them both to tumble backwards into the Molly Weasley's prized tomatoes. It was the first time they'd physically touched each other besides a hug here or there since their break up.

And it wasn't at all romantic.

"Blimey, Hermione!" Ron gasped, his arms wrapped around her frame awkwardly as she sat atop his frame in the tomato patch. "You weigh more than you look, you know."

"Really, Ron!" Ginny called up from her own ladder, staring down at the two. "That's no way to talk to a lady!"

Hermione blushed bright red as Ron sat up, fitting her comfortably in his lap. The feeling was familiar, intimate, but it didn't feel the way it once had. There was an awkwardness between them that couldn't be snuffed out, egged on by the knowledge that both of them once loved each other dearly. Still, Ron rubbed the back of his head and muttered, "Sorry, 'Mione. I just wasn't expecting that was all. You okay?"

"I'm fine," she whispered, betrayed by her own embarrassment. She scrambled to stand and helped him to his feet. "Are you alright?"

"Hmm? Me? Oh, yeah," he winced as he moved his shoulder, "Fit as an ox."

"More like a tumbleweed," George chimed in as he walked past the garden, a crate full of peaches in his arms.

Okay, so maybe trying her theory out on Ron hadn't been the best approach. Perhaps, Hermione thought, it would be wiser to test it with someone who was equally as attractive, if not more so, than Draco bloody Malfoy. Her next sample was none other than Charles "Charlie" Weasley that night.

Charlie was a fine example of the male species: dark red hair that fell past his shoulders, rippling arms and strong muscles forged from taming dragons, and thick, calloused hands that look like they could handle a woman's body in all the right ways. Hermione _might_ have developed a crush in her earlier teen years to the man the first time they'd met, but she'd never _thought_ about acting on those attractions. After all, Ron was the object of her desires for such a long time. But, in the name of scientific discovery, Hermione had an obligation to explore her attraction to Charlie Weasley.

At least, that's what she told herself when she asked Charlie to spot her under the ladder after dinner to 'check her and Ginny's work'. It was a lame excuse, admittedly, but Charlie didn't seem to mind. He was all grins as she climbed up the ladder and pretended to examine the immaculately clean gutters.

"Oops!" she said, pretending to lose her footing a second time. When she fell back, a strong, burly pair of arms caught her, and she came nose to nose with Charlie, who smirked while holding her effortlessly in his grasp.

"Quite a fall," he said, his voice low and gravely. His thick, red beard tickled Hermione's chin; their lips were that close. He smelled of mint, honey, and traces of ink. Goodness, he was a pretty sight to behold -he really didn't resemble any of the other brothers, who were lean and nimble. No, Charlie Weasley was all _man._ "Are you alright, Hermione?"

"Hmm?" she asked, caught in the alluring color of his sky-blue eyes. "Oh, um… mhmm." She nodded enthusiastically. "Charlie, why are you single?"

The Weasley man's eyebrows shot up, and he gave an entertained chuckle. "I suppose women aren't lining up to risk their boyfriend being turned into a dragon crisp. -Why do you ask?"

"I have no idea," Hermione blurted out.

Once again, George Weasley walked by, this time arm in arm with his wife, Angelina. "If you keep falling for Weasleys, I hope it's me next!" he catcalled. Angelina smacked him on the back of the head, and the two rounded the corner, out of sight.

Confidently, Charlie set her down on her own two feet, though his hands still remained on her shoulders, his thumbs brushing idly against her sleeves. "You know, it's too bad my brother has a thing for you. You're quite the witch, you know."

Blushing, Hermione tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and gave a half smile. "Thank you. -But, as you know, Ron and I aren't together, anymore."

"Oh, I know. Every letter I get from him reminds me…" he rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully, just the way his brothers did.

Hmm… "What are you doing later on this year?"

Charlie tilted his head to the side. "Dragons, I imagine." He then corrected himself in a fumble of words, "Er… I'm not... _doing_ the dragons… I mean…" He cleared his throat; it was actually quite humbling to see the man in such a jumble. "Nothing. I'm free."

"Great. Would you want to go to a wedding with me?"

'Bit forward, don't you think?" he winked.

Hermione slapped him playfully on the arm. "I meant, to the Malfoy wedding. Harry and I have both been invited. And as Astoria Greengrass pointed out today, I'm without a plus one…"

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to invite Ron?" Charlie offered.

"I don't want to give him false hope," she replied quietly, wringing her hands together. "Things are complicated enough between us."

Charlie nodded thoughtfully. "Alright. Sounds great." He flashed her a smile; his teeth were perfectly white, just the way her parents liked them. "I'd love to be your plus one. Just owl me the date, I'll be sure to be there."

Hermione grinned ear-to-ear. "Thanks, Charlie."

* * *

**Center Stage: a satisfied Hermione Granger**   
**Setting: Her private bedroom**

* * *

That night, climbing into her bed, Hermione's heart was in a flutter. She thought about Charlie, and her future plans with him, and it gave her such hope that when she closed her eyes, she just _knew_ there would be no more Malfoy to be thought of…

* * *

_"You like dragons, do you?" asked a cool, masculine voice as lips dusted down her stomach with light, feathered kisses. Hermione was sprawled across a bed, her head against a downy pillow and her legs spread on either side of the man between her thighs, breathing heavily against her pelvic bone._

_"Mmm… they're fascinating," she admitted._

_"Are you aware of the famous mythology surrounding Ladon and Hercules?" The man's teeth tugged at the hem of her panties, and Hermione lifted her hips up, giving him easier access to pull the underwear down her thighs. With the undergarment between his teeth, he tugged them down, down, down until they slid around her ankles. Then he reached up and tossed them behind him, off the bed, and moved between her legs again, this time breathing against her core. "Ladon was the famous dragon to guard a tree which grew golden apples. Hercules," his tongue darted out and lapped against her clit for half a moment, earning a heavy sigh from Hermione before he continued, "killed Ladon during his twelve labors and took the apples from the tree…" He spread her legs wide and then pulled them up, around his head. "Do you know what constellation depicts this famous dragon, know-it-all?"_

_Hermione knew. Her heart gave a flutter, and she rolled her hips, begging for contact. But the man leaned back, teasing her._

_"Say it," he commanded her, "and I'll give you what you want. Do you need a hint?" He wrapped his fingers around her waist and pressed her into the bed, willing her body to still as it tried to move against him. "Its name is also the name of a man who wants nothing more than to hear you moan again…" And with that, he leaned forward and ran his tongue all the way up her slippery pussy lips._

_Hermione fought back a moan as she reached down and tangled her fingers in his hair, groaning, "Draco… Draco…."_

* * *

"Draco…" Hermione rolled over in her sleep, unaware that this would be the fourth night in a row she dreamt of the man teasing her in ways she could only imagine.

* * *

**Hope everyone enjoyed! Will update soon. Leave me a thought to your favorite part? XD  
~A.**


	8. Dietary Restrictions

 

****

**Here we are! Another episode of Tango! Thank you to the wonderful LondonsLegend for beta'ing this chapter and fixing my goofs! You are not 'a fuck.' lmaooooo**

**Thank you LightofEvolution for plotting with me and giving me a witty one liner to give to Blaise!**

**~A.**

 

* * *

**"A balanced diet consists of chocolate in both hands."**   
**~Unknown**

* * *

**Center Stage: Blaise and Draco  
** **Setting: Greengrass Estates**

* * *

"And then she just…falls? Into your arms?"

"That's the gist of it."

"I don't understand it. How are you the world's unluckiest twat, and yet you manage to find yourself in the luckiest of situations?" Blaise asked, sipping on a bottled butterbeer from a straw as he and Draco lounged on inflatable beds in the middle of the Greengrass Estate's luxurious inground pool. The Greengrass girls were nowhere on the property, opting to partake in traditional weekly tea with Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and Tracey Davis. Though, the men suspected the afternoons had far less to do with tea and much more to do with who held the best bragging rights for the week.

Draco flipped himself over onto his stomach and reached down, dipping his hand into the lukewarm pool water - Then, he splashed Blaise in the face. "How the Hell am I lucky?"

Blaise peered over his aviator sunglasses and waved his arm around to the lavish pool, extravagant gardens surrounding it before gesturing to himself, as if that sealed the deal. "Oh, I don't know. You're only made of money, marrying into money, with a best friend made of money, not to mention we're all pureblood and sexy to boot." Blaise took another long sip from his straw. "And then you have women throwing themselves into your arms on the side!"

"One," Draco threw a finger up - the middle one, "and 'woman' is putting it nicely."

"So her tits don't wobble to and fro?"

"I never said that," he said, the words sort of falling out of his mouth like an unraveled rope. Realizing his admittance to checking out Granger's rack, Draco did the only logical thing one could do in the situation; he changed the subject. "I hear the Harpies are playing Bulgaria in the first set."

Blaise sat upright on his inflatable raft, pulling his glasses completely off now to display the intensity in his eyes. "So they're real?"

"The Harpies? Or the Bulgarians?"

"Granger's tits!"

"I'd much rather talk of Quidditch."

"Bollocks to Quidditch when tits are concerned."

Draco sat upright on his raft, slack jawed and mildly insulted. "Bollocks to _Quidditch?_ You watch your mouth!"

"Ah, come on, mate. You know what I mean." Blaise smirked.

"You're married."

"Just because I'm on a diet and can't sample the sweets at Honeydukes doesn't mean you can't describe the texture of a chocolate frog to me."

"Better not. I don't want your slobber all over me. Besides, Granger isn't a chocolate frog. She's an every flavored bean - you never know what you'll get with her."

"Ah, to Hell with you." Blaise waved his arm dramatically, overdoing it and losing balance on his raft. It wobbled before toppling over and dumping him into the water with a splash. When he came up for air, Draco was hysterically laughing at his expense. And who could blame the Malfoy man? It wasn't often someone out-klutzed him. With a good humored shrug, Blaise swam across the water at full speed. Draco, sensing impending doom, jumped ship (or in this case, raft) before he could be tossed overboard. Blaise halted his assault, smirking triumphantly. "That's it, Malfoy! Pretend you're falling into Granger's arms, now!"

"Sod off."

"Right here in the water?"

"You're disgusting."

"And you're being stingy. Honestly, Draco, you aren't married yet. You should be taking advantage of a little 'slip' of your hand when she's falling…"

More to himself than to Blaise, Draco muttered, "Already done that…"

"WHAT!?"

Shit. "It was an accident!" he exclaimed at once, not wanting his best mate to get the wrong impression.

"How does one 'accidentally' touch a bum?"

"Blindfolded."

"Ooh, you were blindfolded."

"She was."

Blaise gave him a look: one that said enough to cause Draco to flush scarlet. "Not like that! You're worse than a cat in heat, I swear. It was for dance class."

Blaise blinked. "Are you sure your instructor isn't one of those weird blokes who lures unassuming men and women into his personal sex dungeon?"

"That's what I asked," Draco nodded. "And, no. I'm not sure of anything at this point." He drifted over to the edge of the pool next to the jets and let the coursing water pulse against his back. Blaise wasn't far behind.

"So...how was it?"

"I'm not _telling_ you!"

"Ah, come on! Help a bloke live a little! Daphne would have my testicles in her purse if she even _thought_ I looked at another woman."

"Hate to break it to you, but she castrated you a long time ago. Ten times over with this new bun in the oven." He leaned his head back against the concrete edge surrounding the pool and closed his eyes. "But if you must know… it was firm."

"Firm. That's what you have for me? Out of every adjective in existence, you settle on 'firm.'"

"What's wrong with firm?"

"Nothing, if you're describing a melon."

Irritated, Draco snapped, "It was supple. Soft and toned, enough to fit comfortably in my hand. And she hated every moment of it." He smirked, thinking of the disgruntlement in her tone.

" _Accident._ Riiiiiiight."

"Shut up." Draco hoisted himself up over the edge and climbed out of the pool, purposefully kicking water in Blaise's face in the process. Reaching for a towel, he struggled to change the subject. "Unfortunately, even when I'm to be rid of her in a few months' time, I'm still forced to see her bloody face. Astoria invited her and Potter to the wedding."

Blaise looked utterly flabbergasted. " _Why_?"

"Politics, I suppose...having two of the three Golden Trio at the 'wedding of the century' might sit pretty in some of her social circles. She just doesn't understand the past I share with them. It's awkward enough without pretending that we're all chummy…" Draco sighed. "Sometimes, I feel as if she doesn't listen to me at all…"

Blaise tapped his chin. "Hmm, were you saying something, Draco?"

"Bugger off."

With a smirk, his friend shrugged. "How's the sex life?"

Draco thought about it. "More than usual. Plenty of oral to go around..."

"Jealousy sex. I warned you -the Greengrasses are notorious for it."

"Even so, there's no reason to be jealous of Granger…"

* * *

_Draco sat on a wooden stool in the middle of Honeydukes, the smell of caramel and toffee tickling his senses. He wore only a set of silk boxer briefs (green, of course, as these dreams usually went) and a rope tethered around his wrists, binding them together. Around him, patrons of the sweets shop sampled the various displays of chocolates, beans, and cookies, laughing and carrying on, unaware of Draco and his predicament._

_A warm breath tickled the back of his neck. "Come on, Malfoy. One bite?"_

" _I really shouldn't…"_

_Fingers raked down his back, forcing a hiss of breath to escape his lips. Across the shop, seated atop the checkout counter, was Blaise, stuffing himself with chocolate frogs. The chocolate melted under the touch of his hand, dribbling down his fingers as he groaned in satisfaction. He smacked his lips together. "Draco, mate, you really need to try some."_

" _Ooh, chocolate!" Daphne walked up to the counter and began licking the chocolate off of her husband's fingers in a suggestive manner. "I love chocolate."_

" _Damn right, you do," Blaise gave his wife a wink. "Too bad for you, huh?" he added, smirking at Draco. "You're on a diet."_

" _A diet?" Draco groaned. "Come on…"_

" _Come on,'what?" the seductive voice behind Draco whispered into his ear. "My tits? My ass?"_

" _Oh, no. He can't have any of it!" Blaise grinned joyfully. "No sweets for our stag. Only sugar-free substitutes. They're good for his health."_

_Now, Astoria stood by Daphne, chewing on toffee and giggling. "I'm plenty sweet enough, aren't I?"_

_"But she's no chocolate frog," Blaise added, toasting one up in the air like a champagne glass._

" _Or every flavored bean," cooed the woman behind him - a woman Draco soon realized was_ not _Astoria. But it was familiar. He could vaguely recall it barking commands at him and reciting textbooks…_

 _Sauntering around him into full view, Draco realized why the voice was familiar. Soft, chocolate-brown ringlets_ c _ased the woman's face like a ring of light. Her normally demanding eyes now held a hint of seduction as they trailed down Draco's throat, his chest, his... bulge. Oh, Merlin. Was he_ _hard right now? It might have had something to do with the periwinkle blue tango dress hugging each and every curve of her body, or the slit in her skirt that ran up to the top of her thigh._

" _One bite? Please?" Granger asked, crawling into his lap and straddling his legs while draping her arms around his neck, simultaneously exposing hers. "Don't you want to taste me?"_

" _Fuck…" Draco gasped as she rolled her hips forward suggestively. He glanced down to his bound wrists, for once thankful for the shackles. That was, until Granger reached down and unraveled them, freeing his hands in an instant._

" _Don't touch, now," Blaise chided from across the room._

" _What flavor do you think I am?" she teased, running her unimaginably soft fingers through his hair._

" _Stick to sugar-free quills," said Astoria. "You love those."_

" _But do you really love sugar-free quills enough to have_ only _them the rest of your life?" piped up Blaise._

_Granger's hands slipped down his neck, over his shoulders, and gripped his biceps. "Mmm, Malfoy. I bet you could catch anything with these arms." She leaned forward and licked along the shell of his ear. "You taste sinful…what a dirty, dirty boy."_

* * *

**Stage Right: Draco and Astoria**   
**Setting: Malfoy Manor, Draco's bedroom**

* * *

Draco jerked upright in his bed, the sheets twisted around his body like some roman toga. His mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert, tongue pulsing with the same blood flow that throbbed through his rigid cock. Pulling the covers around him like a woman exposed in the nude, Draco's eyes trailed over to Astoria beside him in bed, angelic in her slumber.

 _Fuck,_ he thought. _It was only a dream._ A dream in which a very tantalizing looking Granger had reduced him to rubble and sexual drive. _No. Sugar-free quills are just fine, thanks._

"Astoria," he whispered, prodding her leg with his foot. "Pst. Tori."

He thought about rolling her over to release his sexual frustration until he got a look at the sleep mask over her eyes and the drool falling down the side of her chin. Maybe he'd just rub one off in the shower…

He crawled out of bed and padded his way to the loo, only satisfied when the warm water of his shower hit him at full blast.

"Right," he whispered to himself, "it was only a dream." He reached down, gripped himself, and began to stroke slowly, getting his mind in the proper fix. He imagined he was offering his cock to a pretty little thing on his knees with chestnut hair. It was fine, at first, until the woman's features began to look less like Astoria and more like the sexualized Granger from his dream.

" _Mm, I bet you taste just like a lolly,"_ she whispered in his mind, taking hold of him and licking the tip.

"Fuck," he muttered, "No, you git. Astoria." He tried a few more strokes, but it was for nought - with a growl, he unwrapped his fingers from himself and rested his head against the tiles of the shower. He stood there until the shower water turned cold, but it still didn't take away the pulsing problem between his legs. Eventually, he gave up and retreated back to bed. _I'm going to have blue balls in the morning, I'm sure of it._

* * *

**Stage Left: Draco**   
**Setting: Diagon Alley, the next day**

* * *

Blue balls were the _least_ of Draco's worries the following day when he received an early morning owl to meet his mother for a luncheon in Diagon Alley to discuss the patent company she took over after his father's passing six months ago - and namely, her hopes of his involvement to take over in the future. Though, this was all covered up with pretty bows and ribbons as a 'way to catch up', Draco knew what this was. It was an attack to thrust her wishes on him whether he liked it or not.

He arrived at his mother's favorite deli shop with fate in hand that day, because someone else was standing at the counter, waiting to order. Though it'd been years since he'd seen the man, the red hair was a dead give away. And those ears - they could land a Quidditch team a mile away, couldn't they? Weasley paid him no mind, and Draco suspected it was the person who stood next to him - some plain looking bloke with too many moles on his neck - who was the cause. He could overhear from his two positions back in the line.

"I'm only saying, Weasley, you let a good one go, that Granger. Is she still single?"

 _Merlin's sagging left testicle, why is everything always about two-shoes bloody Granger this week?_ Draco strangled on his thoughts.

"I, uh, yeah, I think so." Weasley shrugged, the tips of his ears a vibrant shade of pink. "I dunno."

"Do you think she'd go for someone like me?" the other man asked. "I mean, if she went for someone like _you_ once, I'm sure her standards aren't that high." He jostled Weasley in the ribs with his elbow.

Now, Draco Malfoy wasn't a bully anymore. He'd given up that life back with the War, but there was something exponentially wrong in watching someone else bully the bloke he'd bullied for years. With Weasley, there was a mutual understanding. The asshat teasing him now didn't have the right to - especially when it came to some simple, plain, ridiculously _unattractive_ woman like Granger. The idiot didn't even know how to insult!

"Sounds like you're insinuating her standards needs to be low to go out with someone like you," he muttered loudly, drawing the attention of both men. They were next in the queue to be served, but the distraction of Draco caused them both to stand in place, dumbfounded.

Weasley's eyes narrowed. "Just like you, isn't it? Butting into business that isn't yours."

"You two know each other?" Weasley's 'friend' asked.

"That's Draco Malfoy, world's largest git in fine-pressed robes."

"Aww, Weasley, you flatter me." Draco nudged to the counter, and the men, taking the hint, ordered their food and stepped aside. As Draco stepped up to the counter, he added, just for spite, "And I think Granger's really due for an upgrade, not a downgrade, don't you?"

Weasley's counterpart narrowed his thick, ugly brows. "S'cuse me?"

"I only mean that I've had the...well, privilege isn't the right word, but the opportunity to spend some time with Hermione Granger recently, and I doubt she'd go for someone as arrogant as one who would insult her ex right in front of him." Draco paid for his order, which also contained his mother's turkey on wheat, and stepped out of line, closer to the two men. With a smirk, he gave the stranger a once over, raising a chastising eyebrow. "Barnaby, right? In accounting at the Ministry? Went to school with my fianceé, Astoria Greengrass?"

"That's right…" Barnaby crossed his arms.

"Oh, Astoria's told me all about you...you dated her friend Violet. From what I hear, you had a hard time _keeping the dragon from flaming too soon_. Oh, yes. I'm sure that's _just_ what Granger is looking for."

Weasley snorted a laugh, covering it up with a quick cough.

"Order for Barnaby?" the server behind the counter shouted. The disgruntled man quickly retrieved his sandwich and muttered something about needing to go back to work. Weasley waved him off with a fake cheerfulness that dropped the moment Barnaby stepped out the door. His attentions then turned to Draco, who couldn't help but feel as if he was being looked at like a bug under a magnification spell.

"You've been spending time with Hermione?" the redhead asked, skepticism in his tone.

"Dance lessons," Draco answered. "Purely platonic, I assure you." He didn't want Weasley, or anyone, to get the wrong impression.

Almost immediately, Weasley's face relaxed in relief. His sandwich was ready, and so he went to retrieve it, coming back over to Draco with a humbleness about him. "I have no idea what just happened back there...but thank you."

Draco shrugged. "Only one that gets to pick on you is me, Weasley, you know that."

"We're not kids anymore, Malfoy."

"And yet I still have the burning desire to tie your bootstraps together and hang you from the joists," he smirked.

"Yeah, I reckon I still wanna slug you something awful," Weasley replied, rubbing the side of his stubbled chin. "Look, um...if you see Hermione again, tell her I said hello."

"Not 'take me back'?" Draco teased, though a part of him did wish it so he might be able to get the sodding witch out of his mind.

There was a sadness in Weasley's eyes as he shrugged and stared down at his sandwich. "Hermione's got a lot on her plate right now. If you're really trying out this whole 'nice' thing - just...leave it, alright? - You, um... need anything from the Joke Shop, you know where to find me." He nodded awkwardly. Draco nodded back, just as awkward. "Well...later." Weasley was out the door in a flash, more downtrodden than the day he found out Harry Potter had put his name in the Goblet of Fire.

"Draco," called the server, and with a hasty turn he went to retrieve lunch, feeling rather conflicted about his run in with Weasley.

Lunch with his mother wasn't much better.

"I'm only saying, dear, if you spent at least three days in the office a week, you'd be at a greater advantage for when you take over the company…"

Draco was on his last bite of roast beef on rye when he paused, trailing his eyes abhorrently up to his mother, who patted her lips with a napkin as if she hadn't just sleuthed her claim to why they both were really here. Almost defiantly, he took the last bite with slow and deliberate chews. After he swallowed, he took a sip of his pumpkin juice and set the goblet down on the table.

"Mother, we've been over this. I don't _want_ to take over Father's company."

"Well, I didn't _want_ to take it over as well, but here we are. And I can't do it alone. Circe knows the strain this has been taking on my health…" Narcissa gave a timid, sure-to-be-fake cough and cleared her throat. "And besides, you're to be married soon. This will be a wonderful opportunity to show Astoria you are more than just your inheritance."

Draco squinted in agitation. "She already knows that."

"Yes, but dear, she's only ever seen you as a philanthropist playboy, hasn't she? Do you know that woman runs six different charities and still manages to work for her father's broom company on the weekends?"

"I'm marrying the woman. Of course I do." He let out a disgusted huff, crossing his arms like a two-year-old. "But running Father's company isn't what I want to do with my life."

"And what is it you _want_ to do?" his mother asked, nearly desperate as she leaned in closer.

Draco's gaze fell to his empty plate. "I don't know...but not _patents._ "

"I only mean to help mold you into a more responsible young man."

"I'm plenty responsible!"

"When was the last time you folded your own laundry? Or cleaned your own dishes? Or picked out an outfit that wasn't adorned with diamond cufflinks?"

"Now my _wardrobe_ is under attack?"

Narcissa sighed. "Perhaps your father and I were too...lenient with you. You're growing up, Draco. I think it's time you began acting like it. And helping out with the company would teach you the value of money. Five hundred galleons on private dance lessons? Do you honestly believe that's responsible?"

"Considering it was Astoria's idea to take the bloody lessons…" Draco had heard enough. He placed his napkin down on his plate, pushed himself out of his chair, and kissed his mother's cheek, though it was more for show than anything. "I'm not joining the company," he whispered. "And if you want to prove the value of money, perhaps don't show up in a pair of diamond earrings from Peru? Hmm? - I'm late for one of those wasteful lessons. See you next week."

Agitated, he left the deli shop, purposefully throwing a few galleons into the tip jar just to piss his mother off.

* * *

**Reviews make me giggle and grin all day!  
~A.**


	9. Tension

 

****

**Hello! Sorry to be MIA! Finished Squirm! A special shout out to LightofEvolution for Hermione's words at the end of this chapter, and a thank you to Sam Wallflower for continuing to teach me how to properly write Spanish!**

* * *

**"Sex alleviates tension**  
Love causes it"  
~Woody Allen

* * *

**Center Stage: Hermione Granger  
Setting: Diggle's Dance Studio**

* * *

Hermione inhaled breath after breath, trying to calm her nerves as she waited outside Studio _uno_ in preparation for today's _actual_ dance lesson. She wore a light sweater and a pair of khakis, having just come back from spending the afternoon with her parents. She wasn't prepared for dance class, but she hadn't had time to go back and change, considering her parents had bombarded her with all of the usual questions: "Are you dating anyone new? How is Ronald, dear? Have you thought about settling down and becoming a dentist?"

She was in the middle of debating about transfiguring her clothing when Ginny strolled down the hallway and gave her outfit a once over. " _Much_ better."

"Excuse me?"

"Your clothes for dance!"

"These aren't my dance clothes!" Hermione gasped in horror, glancing down at her attire. "I just came from my parents!"

"Oh." Ginny blinked. "Well, you should consider keeping them. You look much more comfortable in your own skin this way."

"I agree!" called a sweet, airy voice from down the hallway. Astoria Greengrass came into full view wearing a flowy, floral skirt and ruffled blouse that hugged her curves in all the right ways. Her hair was the epitome of kempt; compared to Hermione's unruly curls and frumpy attire, the other woman looked like a princess. She even wore two clips in her hair that resembled tiny butterflies, spelled to flap their crystal wings every few seconds or so. Ginny gave the girl a skeptical look as she approached. Hermione, on the other hand, felt rather guilty standing before Astoria after having fantasized about her future husband on multiple occasions this week. Not that she could help it, but still…

"Hello," said Astoria cheerfully, glancing between the two.

"Where's your arm candy?" Ginny blurted out suddenly, to which Hermione elbowed her in the side and sent her an incredulous look.

"Draco is having lunch with his mother," Astoria replied, brushing down the ruffles in her skirt. "He should be here soon. - I'm glad I've caught you, actually, Miss Weasley. I'm sure by now your - well, what is he? Boyfriend? Has he not popped the question yet?" She gave a small twitter. "In any case, I'm sure Auror Potter has informed you of the invitation I've extended to him, and in short, to you in regards to the wedding?"

Hermione was fairly decent at reading people; she could tell Astoria meant no harm - but it didn't make what she said any better, and she had to hold her friend back from charging at her by quickly casting a wordless sticking charm to Ginny's shoes to keep her rooted to her spot. The woman turned as red as her hair, the freckles on her nose barely visible in the presence of her blushing skin.

"Harry _did_ tell me, yes…" Ginny grumbled, crossing her arms.

"Wonderful," Astoria beamed. "And you, Miss Granger? Have you-"

"-Found my plus one? Yes, I have," Hermione replied, a bit crisper than intended. Oh, but what the Hell, yes? For once, she didn't feel like the general outcast; if anything, she and Ginny felt like the cool kids at the lunch table, and Astoria gave off the timid impression of the girl trying to fit in. How very strange.

Astoria inhaled a deep breath, wearing her best forced smile. "Wonderful to hear. How goes the dance lessons with Draco?"

"Swimmingly."

"Great…"

All three women stood in awkward silence until the floo down the hall lit to life. Blaise and Daphne approached, hand in hand. When Daphne saw the disgruntled display between them, she sauntered up to the lot, dragging Blaise with her, and asked, "Has anyone tried the door?"

Hermione turned her head, staring at the handle. Come to think of it…she reached out and turned the knob; it gave way with a soft _click_ , and as soon as the door opened, the hallways was lit to life with the sounds of fresh trumpets, heavy drums, and lively melodies. As the door swung open, the youngest couple, Lidia and Liam, glided across the dance floor with precision, turning and twisting their feet in a display Hermione's eyes could barely keep up with. Greg Diggle sat on top of a large trunk in the corner of the room, tapping his hands to it in time with the beats as his eyes scanned the door and met with Hermione.

"Glad you could join us," he said gleefully, gesturing to the room. "You're all five minutes late by my father's standards."

With a blush, Hermione stepped in first, nearly forgetting Ginny's spelled shoes - at the last moment, she waved her hand behind her back and released them, causing Ginny to nearly stumble backwards. "And by your standards?" the bright witch asked, self conscious in her attire. Greg didn't seem to mind. In fact, he looked charmed by her appearance as he jumped down from the trunk and reached for her hand. He placed a delicate kiss on top and smiled.

"Right on time," he said with a wink.

Ginny, usually not one to interrupt a potential sexual counterpart for her friend, broke out of her character and seized Hermione by her wrist, dragging her across the floor with a mighty pull. Under her breath she muttered, "That wasn't funny, Hermione."

"It was a _little_ funny," Hermione tried to reason with her. "And besides, you were about to go after her."

"You're damn right I was."

"Honestly," she rolled her eyes, "sometimes you have a temper that rivals Ron's…" The moment she said the words, she placed a hand over her mouth to stifle herself.

Ginny stared with apprehension at her friend. "Is that so?"

"Be reasonable. If you really took a look at yourself, you'd know it to be true." Hermione sighed, resting her hands on her hips. "You let her get under your skin far too much."

"She didn't have to bring Harry and I into it," Ginny glared daggers across the room toward Astoria, who hid behind her sister like a child on her mother's coattails. "Did she think we were back in school, somehow?"

"Well, she's only just graduated in the last two years, hasn't she? I don't imagine she's quite as... _mature_ as us," Hermione tried to phrase her meaning with just the right framing. "And I don't imagine a lot of people have ever told her the way she says things is particularly off putting…"

"Just because she comes from money doesn't give her the right to say whatever the bloody Hell she wants. Especially when it comes to Harry's and my non-engagement!" Ginny ended her rant with a huff, stomping her way to the refreshment table. There, she gobbled down three tiny sandwich squares and an entire handful of carrots, obviously stress eating. Hermione was just about to stop her when the door to the studio swung open, and a very disgruntled (and still somehow devilishly handsome -no, wait, no, bad!) Draco Malfoy entered, his hair disheveled as if he'd been running his hands through it anxiously. Almost immediately, Astoria Greengrass bursted across the room and began grooming his hair, tittering and smiling. Malfoy seemed alright enough with it, but he looked distracted.

 _Oh, what am I doing? I shouldn't be staring at him like this. He's just a man. Not even that. Just a man-child with a sharp jaw and piercing eyes and a bum so taut…_ Hermione really needed to purchase a personal toy to help her with her problem, because thinking about Malfoy this way was _not_ helping.

"Oi, fancy-pants?" Blaise Zabini called out to Greg. "Where in the seven Hells is your father? We're not paying him so we can stand around and look pretty. We do plenty of that on our own time."

"My father loves his dramatic entrances," replied Greg. "Why don't you ask the trunk?"

As if on cue, the latch to the trunk burst open, and the top swung open wide. Señor Diggle popped out in a parade of glitter and confetti, his mustache curled back so tight it nearly touched his nose. With a twinkle, the dance instructor stepped forward and said, "¡ _Bienvenido_!"

"You have to be kidding me," muttered Malfoy from across the room as all of the women - sans Hermione, of course - began to clap wildly at Señor Diggle's entrance.

"¡ _Gracias! ¡Gracias!_ You're too kind." Diggle gave a tremendous bow.

"What in Merlin's name was that?" Zabini asked, his mouth agape.

Diggle strolled right up to him, pushed Blaise's jaw up with the tip of his finger to close it, and answered, " _That_ is called _la bravata_ , or bravado to those non-bilinguals. Magic is full of it, Señor Zabini! As is dance. And in order to dance _el Tango_ , you must be prepared for the unexpected moments and give them back tenfold! You must be as bold as the unforeseen if you are to succeed in my classroom."

"It sounds like you just wanted to make a showy entrance," Hermione said, crossing her arms.

" _I_ think it was brilliant," Astoria interjected, still clapping lightly. "And wildly unexpected."

"As is our lesson for today, I assure you." Señor Diggle stomped the floor three times, and a glowing, red X appeared in the center of the dance area. "Señor Malfoy. If you'd be so kind." He gestured to the X. Malfoy raised an eyebrow, exchanged nervous glances with his friends, and strolled to the marked area, a bit uneasy if anything. "Si, right there. And señorita Granger? Could you please join him?"

Both Hermione's and Malfoy's eyes widened at the same time. It was one thing, working together in privacy, but totally another to be wedged together in a setting made up of friends and strangers.

"What does this have to do with-" Hermione began, but Diggle cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"The X, please."

Sighing, Hermione did as was asked, only standing on the very edges of the large X, just as Malfoy did to the other side. Neither one of them appeared in good spirits about the turn of events. Just what was Diggle up to?

"Today we will be learning the power of the unexpected, _queridos míos_!" With a snap of his fingers, Hermione was blind. Soft cloth graced over her eyes and the tops of her cheeks. _Oh no._

"Please don't let this be what I think it is…" growled Malfoy, reaching out and grabbing Hermione's arm firmly as if he feared falling now that he was blind. Not that she could help him any. The blind leading the blind, and all…

"Dance!" Diggle's voice was drowned out by upbeat, melodic music.

"You want us to _dance_?" Hermione gasped, trying to rip her blindfold off. "Señor Diggle, this is beyond a normal dance lesson!"

"You must be prepared for the unexpected," Diggle said from somewhere far away. "Now, _dance."_

"Great Circe's tit…" Malfoy grumbled, reaching out and grabbing Hermione around the waist, as if he knew exactly where she was. Of course he didn't, so it was purely by luck, but the moment his hand slipped around her back she felt her heartbeat quicken. He pulled her to him with little effort, stumbling around until he found her hand and set it in his. "He's not going to let us go until we do what we're asked like _good little house elves,_ " Malfoy whispered, "so let's just get it bloody-well over with." And with a gentle nudge, he guided her forward, much like their previous private lesson. Remembering his jerky movements, Hermione compensated and kept his pace, trying ever so hard to recall how he tugged her around last time. Malfoy, to his credit, was easier with her, and they fell into a gentle rhythm of side steps and bounces.

"Of all of the people in this class," Malfoy chided under his breath, quiet enough so that only Hermione could hear, "why is it always _you_? -Left."

Hermione was quick on the draw, sidestepping to the left quickly and earning a sound of approval from the audience. "Believe me," she muttered back, "this isn't my slice of heaven, either. -Too fast." To her relief, Malfoy slowed down just a tad, making it easier to catch up. She began to realize she was...used to dancing with him.

All of the dizzying dreams of him between her legs and brushed up behind her flooded into her mind at once, and it didn't help that, as she stepped back, she used the wrong foot and caused them both to crash into one another with his leg between hers. "Are you knackered, Granger? Keep up," he seethed, though there was a hint of something else in his tone. Tension. Tension that didn't stem from anger.

As Hermione found her footing once more, unsure of where they were going or even if they were near the X anymore, she whispered, "Are you alright? You seem stressed."

"Hi. I'm a Malfoy. Stress is my life."

"Is it? I thought being pampered day in and day out was."

"Quippy. You know, dancing with you blindfolded _nearly_ made me forget how annoying you are -until you opened that mouth of yours. I honestly have no idea what all the fuss over you is about."

"Fuss?"

The music stopped.

"¡ _Muy bien!_ " Señor Diggle shouted, and a moment later, the blindfolds were gone. " _That_ is how to deal with the unexpected!" He began to clap, and, one by one, the other students in dance class begun to as well. Everyone, that was, except for Astoria, who gave the smallest of contact with her fingers to imitate the clap. "Pair up! Remember your basic steps and listen to your partner's bodies." Placing a hand on both Hermione's and Malfoy's shoulders, he said, quieter, "I'm extremely proud of the both of you. Look how far you've come in such a short amount of time. I am _truly_ an excellent teacher." And with that, he walked away, head up high and proud.

Malfoy smirked for half a moment, much like he did in Hermione's dreams. It made her blush. "And here I thought he couldn't be humble." With a wink, he strolled away to find Astoria, leaving Hermione all alone.

Well, almost.

"Looking for a dance partner?" It was Greg, his hands tucked neatly behind his back. Hermione spun around to meet his smile.

"You're not one to give up, are you?" she raised an eyebrow.

"I'm never one to shy away from a challenge, no." He offered out his hand. "It's either myself or my father."

"Then I suppose you'll have to do," she said quickly, taking his hand and following him to a corner of the dance floor. "Are these blindfolds really necessary?"

"In my opinion? No. But I'm not the instructor here, am I?" Greg said, almost bitter. He caught himself, though, and forced a cleaner smile on his face. "Forgive me. I'm not here to bore you with my personal life."

"No, you're here to lead me around blindly while I step on your toes," Hermione teased just as the blindfold reappeared over her face. "Oh, dear…"

"Relax," Greg offered, pulling her to him and pressing them close. "Just concentrate on the sound of my voice."

"I guess a bit of small chat would be nice, then," she admitted while he began to lead her in a few simple steps. They were easy enough to follow, but the pace was slower, and she didn't know Greg the way she knew Malfoy when it came to following the lead. Malfoy was jerkier, and therefore easier to predict when he would decide to change pace; Greg was fluid, like water, and Hermione found herself being cast around like a plank in the waves more than a partnership of 'dance expression.' Was this how normal people danced? There was far less anger, that was for sure… "So, have you always wanted to study dance?" she asked. _Might as well get to know him. It might solidify him as a potential partner and get Malfoy out of your mind!_

"From the time I could walk," he told her, "and maybe before then. My mother was breathtaking on stage. You remind me of her."

"Was she a terrible dancer, too?"

"Ha. If she were here, she would dig her heel into your side for suggesting such a thing. - She was headstrong. Knew how to put men in their place."

"Sounds like a lovely woman."

"She _was_."

The emphasis on was caused Hermione to pause. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. It was a long time ago. This dance studio used to be hers. I hope to inherit it one day, if my father ever decides to retire."

Hermione smiled, though she realized he couldn't see it. "Big ambitions."

"I'm an ambitious man. And you're an ambitious woman, or so I've been told. - Have dinner with me."

* * *

"Ouch, Draco, _darling,_ that's my toe."

"Well, Astoria, _sweetheart_ , I wouldn't step on your toe if you could follow my lead."

This bickering had gone on since they begun their blindfolded dance and had yet to end, ten grueling minutes later. With no end in sight, pun intended, Draco tried very hard to bite his tongue and not snip at his future wife. His meeting with his mother had left him on edge, and it didn't help that the moment he saw Granger in class he became a nervous ninny for no reason at all. It wasn't as if she could read his mind and see his dirty thoughts of her, but pairing that with nothing in his life going the way he thought it would made for a very disgruntled Draco Malfoy today. Astoria made matters ten times worse when she said, just to spite him,

"Do you mean if I followed your lead the way that Granger girl did?"

His arms tensed, and Draco stopped dancing. "What?"

"You seemed to get on with her just fine."

"She and I don't get on."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Then why were you blushing like a fool?"

Once again, Draco Malfoy bit his tongue. Had he been? "Maybe, _love,_ I didn't feel comfortable on stage with everyone else watching."

"That's never been a problem for you before."

"Yes, well, I'm usually wonderful at most everything I do," he said. "Really. You've nothing to worry about."

But Draco didn't believe his own words. He'd hoped that seeing Granger again would diminish the built up dream version of her into a pile of rubble, but it only solidified this unbecoming fantasy of his to have her pressed against him. He didn't understand why seeing her today made the fantasy Granger spring to life in his mind. But it didn't help that Astoria had done nothing but baby him since the moment he walked in, messing with his hair and babying him like his _mother._

Eventually, the blindfolds came off, and Draco could see the irritation -and dare he think it- sadness in Astoria's eyes. Every few minutes, he would catch her glancing across the dance floor.

"Something on your mind, Tori?" he asked her, trying to keep to the steps provided. Astoria, however, didn't seem to care about his pacing, taking to her own and causing him to scuff her shoes up further.

"I'm beginning to see why you don't like her…" Astoria muttered.

"Granger?"

"What? No, she seems fine to me. That _Weasley_ woman. She seemed miffed at me when I brought up her invitation to our wedding."

Draco paused in his dance steps. "How did you phrase it?"

"What sort of question is that?" Astoria's eyes shot up to meet his.

He could tell he was walking on dragon eggshells, so he rephrased, "What exactly did you say to her?"

"I asked her if Potter had told her about my invitation. Nothing more." Shrugging, the woman gave a heavy sigh. "Maybe it's just wedding stress, but I get the feeling nothing is going right anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"My dress has seemed to shrink since I ordered it made-" Draco assumed it had something to do with all of the cake Astoria sampled as of late, though she still looked perfect, "- _you_ can't dance-" Now that wasn't exactly fair; he was taking dance lessons, "And now Harry Potter might not show up to our wedding all because I've pissed off his...whatever she is to him." There were so many things wrong with her statement, Draco took a moment to process.

"Why does it matter if _Potter_ comes to our wedding?" he asked.

"Do you want it to be the social event of the century or don't you?" Astoria released Draco's hand.

"If that means having to add one more fish dinner to a man I can hardly stand, then _no._ Since when did we care about having the 'social event of the century'? I'm marrying _you,_ Tori, not the entire wizarding world." Draco felt his frustration grow. "Or are we not marrying for love anymore? But social status?"

Astoria paled, and her eyebrows creased together. " _Excuse_ me?"

"You heard me."

"I'll have you _know,_ Draco Malfoy, I am only trying to appease your parents, and my parents, and everyone else involved in this wedding - as _you_ seem to want no part in it."

"That's not fair," Draco exclaimed, forcing his voice quiet as to not make a scene. "I'm a man. Weddings just aren't my thing."

"Blaise was involved in _his_ wedding planning."

"Yes, and Blaise is pussy whipped by Daphne to the highest degree."

"That's my _sister_."

"Yes, and it's _my_ best friend she's got wrapped around a chain."

Astoria stared, taken aback. "Apologize."

"I will not. It's true."

"Yes, well here's another truth: you're being a git."

"Rather a git that speaks his mind than pretending I want _Potter_ at our wedding."

"Oh, you're impossible!" Astoria shouted, drawing the attention of the classroom. "Don't bother coming to bed tonight! You're sleeping on the sofa!" She strutted away to the door, yanking it open with all her might.

"Hey! It's _my_ bed!" Draco said childishly as she slammed the door behind her, leaving him with all eyes on the mess of their fight. His ears burned as he glared across the dance floor and sneered, " _What are you lot looking at?"_

"Ahem…" said Diggle, clapping his hands together. The music ceased. "I believe that concludes lessons for the day...Señor Malfoy, a word?"

Time passed quickly as people began to filter out of the dance studio. Draco ignored Daphne's offer to talk or Blaise's subtle shoulder pat and opted to turning his back on them as they walked by, too embarrassed to address what had just happened. - But what _had_ just happened? Did he and Astoria honestly have a bickering competition in front of everyone? What the bloody Hell was that about?

And why didn't he feel more sorry about it?

"Care to explain what just happened in the middle of my dance lesson?" asked Diggle, approaching Draco while twisting his mustache between his fingers.

"Not really…" Draco grumbled.

" _Como desées_ , but be warned; if it happens again in my class-"

"Yeah, yeah… I get it."

* * *

"What do you think that was about?" asked Hermione to Ginny as they strolled down the hallway on their way to the floo.

"Haven't a clue. Did you see the way she stormed out? He obviously did something wrong," said Ginny. "No woman makes that grand of an exit without a reason."

Hermione stopped mid-stride, glancing back toward the door just as Diggle stepped out. Malfoy wasn't with him, which meant he was still back in the classroom. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Ginny asked. "Hermione?" But Hermione was already strolling back to the classroom. When she pulled open the door, she found Malfoy sitting at the edge of the dance floor, staring at himself in the mirror, legs tucked up to his chest. He noticed her arrival and glared up at her in the mirror.

"What do you want?"

"Are you alright?" she asked, unsure why she cared so much. Maybe it was because she didn't like seeing anyone sitting there with such a crestfallen look on their face, even if it _was_ Malfoy.

"What do you care?"

"I don't," she shrugged, "but I imagine your egocentric pride does. Any I imagine any chance you have to talk about yourself you'll take." His response was a snort, so she took her chances and sat down beside him. "Or don't talk about it. That's fine. But I don't think you need to be alone right now."

"I'm fine-"

"-Sure you are. But you still don't need to be alone." She tried her best warm smile and imitated him, tucking her legs up to her chest. "So we can sit here in silence, if that's what you prefer."

"Hmph…" Malfoy turned his head away and tucked it between his knees to hide the redness in his cheeks. The minutes ticked by, and Hermione wondered if this was all a mistake until he muttered, "What ever happened between you and Weasley?"

Caught off guard, Hermione took a moment to understand his question. "You...what?"

"Did you fight like this?" he asked. "Is this how the end starts?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and she gaped at the Malfoy man and his vulnerability. Quickly, she stifled it and cleared her throat. "No. Ron and I didn't fight - _ever._ I think...I think that was part of the problem."

"So why did you end it, then?"

"Why do you assume _I_ ended it?"

"Didn't you?"

Hermione bit her tongue. Well, there was no arguing about the semantics. She _did_ end it. She inhaled, thinking. "Ron loved me. And I think I loved him. But there were moments...he couldn't accept my geekiness, for one thing."

"To be fair, that's not really his fault. You're a bundling ball of bookworm."

"Do you want your answer or not?" She continued, "I need someone I don't need to control like a child. I didn't want to always check to see if he packed his breakfast, if he did the laundry, or if he wrote to his mum. Ron… he's a great man, but he needs a sitter. I…need someone independent. Someone I can show my weaker, vulnerable sides without being judged. Someone who challenges me, takes me to my personal boundaries and over them, someone with whom an argument ends in make up sex and cuddling, not him sulking at his mother's kitchen table." Hermione realized she'd begun to ramble and quickly blushed at her confession. "All in all, we just aren't compatible. And when he asked me to marry him...I couldn't do it."

"So, commitment issues, then?"

"No! I just happened to know I wasn't ready to settle down. There's nothing wrong with knowing what I want out of life."

Malfoy nodded, running his hands through his hair. "I can't figure it out, Granger - why she treats me like a child."

"Well, do you _act_ like a child?"

He smirked, sticking out is tongue. "No. - I just don't understand why she's so on edge all the time."

"She's planning a wedding, Malfoy. It's to be expected. Talk to her." Hermione reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder, noticing how soft the sleeve of his shirt felt beneath her palm. She imagined he would be as cold as his persona, but he burned bright and vivid - much like the stars he was named for. Hermione couldn't help the small blush she felt when Malfoy's eyes trailed over to her hand. "I'm sure you can work this out. If she's what you want, you shouldn't let anything stand in your way to get to her. She makes you happy, yes?"

Malfoy continued to stare at her hand, lost in thought.

"If you love her, show her." Their eyes caught, and her heart did a somersault inside her chest. She retracted her hand. "Or don't waste her time. Give her time to move on, like what I did for Ron." With that, Hermione stood up, retreated to the door, and for once was thankful for her curls. They hid her blush ever so well.

* * *

**Hope you liked it! Shall update soon.**   
**~A.**


	10. Competitive Sports

**As always, a special shout out to LightofEvolution and her amazing way to give me plot bunnies to work with. Krum's involvement in this chapter is all her. ^_^ And a few other things. So thank you Light! (hearts)**

**So glad so many of you are enjoying this fic! I'm updating twice this week to make up for no updates last week. Cuz, you know, I love you all. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**"I would rather die of passion than of boredom."  
~Vincent van Gogh**

* * *

**Stage Left: a determined Blaise and a sulking Draco  
Setting: behind Malfoy Manor**

* * *

That same evening, Blaise Zabini found Draco Malfoy tucked away inside the Quidditch shed, lacing and unlacing his boots in a lazy fashion. The clouds over Malfoy Manor brought with them a dark drizzle, discouraging any fun Draco might have had in lieu of his argument with Astoria. Upon seeing his friend, Draco gave a disgruntled growl, tightening his laces to the point of losing circulation.

"I've checked every bit of Malfoy Manor. Astoria's not here."

"That's because she's out with Daphne. A girl's night in, if you will, to calm her down." When Draco cast Blaise a glare, he added, "You could be saying thank you instead of giving me that salty expression. It was a favor to you, you know."

"Daphne doesn't do favors."

"You're right. Which means you'll owe her."

"It isn't fair, is it?" Draco snarled. "She gets to just walk out any time she wants and I'm to what? Sit at home and wait for her arrival to forgive me?"

"Viktor Krum is signing books down at Flourish and Blotts."

Blaise had his attention.

"What? The sod wrote a book?"

"Ghostwritten, I imagine, but yeah. Autobiography. And since we went to school with him for a year, I thought we might be mentioned." He waggled his brows. "Come on; you know your interest is peaked."

"You know Bulgaria isn't my team."

"But it's an excuse to get out of the house - one neither of our women can hold over our heads."

Draco smirked. Yeah, he rather liked the idea. "Alright," he agreed. "Let's do it."

* * *

**Center Stage: Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley  
Setting: Flourish and Blotts, of course!**

* * *

Hermione stepped into Flourish and Blotts with Ginny by her side, inhaling the thick aroma of ink and parchment. "Come on, Gin. We're going to be late." To her left, her friend balanced a stack of photographs (all of Viktor Krum), a small replica set of Quidditch balls, and a pair of leather gloves on top.

"Do you think he'll be willing to sign all these for me?"

"Ginny, Viktor asked us here to give support, not force him to sign all forms of your memorabilia - you sound more and more like your brother every day."

"Well, these are for Ron," Ginny explained, "and George, and Charlie. Bill and Percy never cared much for Bulgaria."

Hermione stifled a large eye roll when she found Viktor's table set up near the front of the shop, twiddling his quill nervously and chewing on the skin of his lower lip. When his eyes met hers, they lit up in delight, and he patted a chair next to him behind the table. "Herm-o-nee! It is great to see you," he exclaimed, his accent still thick and robust. Hermione patted his shoulder as she took a seat beside him just before Ginny tossed all of her items onto the table and immediately asked him to sign them.

"Please?" she added as an afterthought.

Hermione covered up her embarrassment by saying, "See? Your first fan has arrived!"

* * *

Picking up a freshly printed copy of _I am Krum_ (a bit of an obvious statement, Draco thought) from a pile near the door, Blaise grinned ear to ear as Draco followed him inside Flourish and Blotts. "See, mate? Isn't this better than ruminating in the dark?"

"Only because there are books," muttered Draco, eyeing a new set of advanced alchemy books just released and on display at the front desk. Because he became so lost in the freshly pried open book in front of his nose, he took no notice of the curly-haired witch sitting beside Krum as he fell in line with Blaise on the way to getting his copy signed. Nor did Draco care much about listening to Blaise going on and on about Krum's stats.

"Perhaps," he lulled, turning the pages of his book, "you should have married Krum instead."

It wasn't until they make it to the front that Draco peered over the edge of his book to notice a pair of brown eyes staring at him with interest beside Krum. _Granger._ He slammed the book shut.

* * *

Hermione hardly took notice of Zabini chatting it up with Viktor about the last Quidditch tournament - her eyes were set on the platinum blond man standing in front of her, looking just as bewildered at her as she was at him. Once again, fate decided to throw them together by chance, and it was becoming irritating, to say the least. And it didn't help when Ginny began throwing her two sickles into the mix, joining in conversation with Viktor and Zabini and leaving Malfoy to his own devices.

 _Might as well strike up a conversation_ , she thought. "Hello."

Malfoy gave a curt nod in response, pretending to be interested in the structural integrity of the building - meaning to say, looking anywhere but at her. Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to reading her book. It was then that Malfoy decided to bring his eyes back around, scanning her reading with mild interest.

"You're interested in Alchemy?"

A small smile breached her lips. Well, at least he was trying to make the moment less awkward, too. "I'm interested in a lot of things."

"Hey, mate. You're holdin' up the line!" Someone shouted from behind him. Malfoy stepped aside to make room, but Zabini wouldn't be budged. He continued to talk sports with Ginny and Viktor, seemingly as if he couldn't care less what happened to the others waiting for an autograph. Malfoy began to wander away, and Hermione felt a sense of sadness at the way his shoulders hung defeated. And, truth be told, a part of her wondered where he might run off to. She looked over to Viktor to excuse herself, found it useless because he was so caught up in conversation, and slipped out of her seat, setting off in the direction Malfoy went. It didn't take her long to find him, tucked away in the back of the shop. She peeked around a corner of shelves to watch him as his eyes roamed over the various tomes at his disposal.

That's when she noticed it; there was a look of serenity on his face here, amongst the books. She didn't think she'd ever seen him so calm before. His fingers glided along the backs of several hardbacks before selecting one and smirking. He took a seat at a sofa provided and cracked it open, relaxed, and yet there was a hint of uneasiness about him as he read - his body language suggested he was trying to distract himself from his thoughts. Hermione recognized it because she'd done it many times before. The fight with Astoria was, no doubt, still fresh on his mind.

She was in the middle of debating on whether she should say anything or stroll away when Malfoy muttered, not looking up from his book, "Can I help you, Granger?"

Her breath caught. Drats, she'd been found out. Hermione stepped out from behind the bookshelf and twiddled her thumbs. "I was just coming to see how you were doing after today...you know. Since your fight with Astoria."

"Fight?"

"Trifle? Whatever you wish to call it."

Malfoy sat his book in his lap and narrowed his eyes. "Tell me, in what alternate universe have we fallen into where I open up about my relationship with _you_?"

Slightly taken aback, Hermione sat her hands on her hips. "Well, you didn't seem to have a problem with it before, did you?"

"I never asked you to sit with me."

"You're just a regular ball of sunshine, aren't you? It's no wonder Astoria's miffed at you if this is how you talk to people on a daily basis."

"Oh, not people, Granger," he smirked. "Just you."

She huffed. " _Why?_ I don't see you still acting this way toward Harry or Ron."

"When do you ever see any of us together to know?"

"Well, do you?"

He pondered it. "No. Just you, I suppose."

"Any particular reason?"

"Isn't it obvious? Because you can take it. No matter what I manage to dish out, you always have a quip on the backburner. It's refreshing."

"So you enjoy the degradation?" she laughed in disbelief, leaning against the shelf beside her.

"As if you could degrade me. No, I simply enjoy your _small_ amount of intelligence - though it doesn't seem to be able to rival mine."

"You're impossible."

"And you're a stalker," he shrugged, quirking an eyebrow. "So...Krum. Is he your 'plus one' to my 'event of the century?' Assuming it still happens…" He paused momentarily, his eyebrows furrowing.

Hermione didn't feel the need to share who her plus one was, but she did share, "Viktor is just a friend." She shrugged, more comfortable in Malfoy's presence, despite the memories of her dreams. "He was in town and very nervous about his book signing, so I came to support him. Though, he seems to be doing just fine on his own."

"Blaise will gladly talk his ear off for the next two hours."

"So will Ginny."

They both grinned.

"So…" Malfoy eyed her up and down. "You're reading Alchemy, then?"

Nodding, Hermione approached him cautiously, still cradling her book in her hand. Malfoy extended his arm, silently asking to look it over. When Hermione passed it to him, their fingers touched. It was a small moment, but it sent a warm shimmer up her body.

Malfoy wet his lower lip with his tongue as he read the cover. Now, Hermione couldn't stop staring at his mouth. It was so… she smacked her cheek lightly.

Looking up from the book, he asked, "Did you just strike yourself?"

"Hmm? Oh, no." Hermione took a seat next to him, brushing elbows as she grabbed her book back. "You must have imagined it." She scooted a little further away from him and opened the pages, pretending to read in silence.

"...What are you doing?"

"Reading."

"I mean, what are you doing sitting next to me?"

"Tell me about Astoria," she blurted out. She wasn't sure why she wanted to know so badly, but she did.

Malfoy tensed beside her. "I...um…"

"Is she excited about the wedding?"

"Very much."

"And are you?"

"It's a wedding," he scoffed, giving a shrug. "Should I be?"

"Well, _yes_. It's not just a wedding. You're getting _married._ That's a big step." When he shot her an incredulous glare, she surmised, "What I mean is, it's great that you've found someone you want to spend the rest of your life with. Someone that lights a fire in you. I can see fighting with her bothers you."

"Why do you care so much?" he asked quietly.

"I guess I'm a bit...envious," she admitted. Malfoy grinned arrogantly. "Of what you two have, you git!" She shoved him in the arm playfully. "Not of anything else."

"It's alright, Granger. There are loads of women who are envious of Astoria. Not everyone can be a snake charmer."

"I don't suppose I'll ever find a lion tamer, myself," she mused, more to herself than to him.

Some time went by in comfortable silence with both of them reading their books when Ginny came around the corner. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you. Viktor's just finished his signing, and he wants us to come out for drinks with him."

"You call him Viktor now?" Hermione teased.

"Isn't it great?" Ginny was all grins. "Oh, don't give me that look, Hermione. I'm a happily taken woman. I'm just excited to get to talk Quidditch with someone who gets what it's like to play professionally."

Hermione knew the feeling. It was nice sitting with someone who seemed to enjoy silent reading as much as she did.

"Anyway, come on," Ginny continued, "Zabini says he knows this great pub that's muggle themed."

"Blaise?" Malfoy cut in. "What about Blaise?"

"Krum invited all of us - including you, Malfoy, so shape up." Ginny waved them on with her hand. "Pip, pip!"

* * *

**Stage Right: Hermione, Ginny, Draco, Blaise, and Viktor Krum**   
**Setting: Muggle Mystique**

* * *

They arrived at a small pub on the outskirts of Hogsmeade called 'Muggle Mystique.' Draco wasn't fond of the name or the theme, but he wasn't about to call it quits and go home. As they walked in, they were asked to leave their cloaks at the door - 'Too wizard' the barkeep had told them. A variety of objects decorated the walls of the establishment, and all of them were muggle. Draco recognized some of them as phones and muggle street signs, but others baffled him completely. There were a variety of artificial flowers (but why? What purpose did those serve?) and unusual twinkling lights on green wires along the floorboards.

"Christmas tree lights," Granger whispered to him as she passed, excusing her and Weasley to the loo. Krum offered to grab the first round of drinks, so it was up to Blaise and Draco to procure seating. They found a circular table in the center of the establishment, all while Draco muttered how he didn't like being where everyone could see them as he motioned to his scarred Dark Mark, exposed from the lack of robes.

"This'll be good for you, Draco. Out with two Quidditch stars, no one's going to be looking at your old tattoo."

The blond still wasn't convinced. "Don't you dare tell Astoria bout this."

"Why not?"

"Because she'll invite Krum to the wedding, won't she? Or worse! The entire Bulgarian Quidditch team!"

Blaise blinked. "...And?" He earned a swift whack on the back of the head from Draco's palm. "What? They can hold their liquor and would be an excellent addition to all the stuck-up 'Sacred Twenty-Eight', wouldn't they?"

"Shall I replace you and invite Krum to be my best man, instead?"

With a smirk, Blaise chuckled. "I caught you three weeks ago stopping at the side of a pond to pet baby ducks. You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

"I vaguely recall when we were children, you would dress up the house elves like dragons...and you would play the dragon tamer."

Draco paled as the ladies returned, taking a seat at the other side of the table. He noticed the way Granger's eyes trailed over his Mark, but she said nothing, and he was thankful for it.

"Are you alright, Malfoy?" the redhead asked. "You look a bit sick."

"He needs a good drink in him," Krum cut in, arriving back at the table while levitating an arsenal of drinks. Everyone received a cocktail glass filled with variations of colored liquids except for Krum, who sat between the pairs with a shotglass and a tall bottle of vodka. Blaise automatically reached for his drink, but Draco was skeptical. Growing up under the wing of Professor Snape, he'd learned to be weary of new concoctions and always be prepared for poison. The drink's aroma was sweet and pungent.

"What is this?" he asked.

Krum exchanged smiles with the women and winked to them before addressing the men. "It is old Russian drink. Very manly. You drink." He toasted his shot glass.

"If it's so 'manly,' why aren't you drinking it?" Draco nudged toward the women. "And why are they?"

Blaise was already halfway done with his drink by this point.

Weasley laughed into her hand, and Granger burst out giggling. "Oh, I can't keep this up! It's a muggle drink, Malfoy." She cleared her throat. "Oh, but a manly one, for sure. It's called 'Sex on the Beach.'"

"Sounds _so_ promising," Weasley sniggered, sipping her drink.

"It's delicious," agreed Blaise with a wink. "Both variations of Sex on the Beach, I mean. Daphne has this spell that keeps the sand from getting into your-"

"-I don't want to know!" Granger covered her ears, and the whole table lit up in laughter, Draco included. Being out socializing took away many of his stresses, even if it was with Weasley and...Granger. Merlin, she had a lovely smile when she laughed, didn't she? - He pinched his own leg to punish himself for thinking such a thing. Deciding it was alright, he took a swig of his drink.

"It's...not bad," he admitted.

"Gonna have to tell Astoria you like Sex on the Beach," Blaise chided, ribbing Draco in the side. Staring down into his drink, Draco suddenly felt very solemn. He had been doing just fine until Blaise decided to mention Astoria. All of his insecurities bubbled back up to the surface, and the mood of the bar around him shifted. He didn't want to think about going back to his empty home; in fact, home sounded like the worst place to be. He felt terrible about it, but he'd nearly forgotten about Astoria for a moment and all of the pressures of the wedding looming over his head.

"Herm-o-nee tellz me you are dancing in lessons?" Krum asked the group.

"The Tango," Blaise nodded. "Though, these two are terrible at it." He nudged to Granger and then over to Draco, who was still lost in thought.

"We've gotten better," Granger tried.

"No, Hermione," Weasley patted her friend's hand. "You haven't."

"That's alright. This sod right here has no rhythm whatsoever," Blaise teased, curling his arm around Draco's neck.

"Neither does Hermione."

"Oi, now." Draco swung Blaise's arm off of him, irritated. "I have rhythm. I just think the Tango isn't worth my time."

"Here, here!" saluted Granger, tilting her drink toward him. Glad someone was on his side, he smirked and clinked glasses with her.

"Oh, please. You two are the worst when it comes to dancing," said Blaise. "We've seen you in class."

"Az I recall, Herm-o-nee was quite skilled at the Waltz," Krum offered with a wink. Granger smiled warmly in his direction.

"Thank you, Viktor!"

"Draco and I were at the _same_ ball. Or have you lot forgotten that? God awful, Draco was."

"Hey!" Draco exclaimed.

"I smell a bet coming on," said Weasley, sipping her drink as she grinned. "Two galleons says Hermione's a worse dancer than Malfoy."

"Three says Draco's worse."

"Oh, you're on."

They shook on it. Without a word, Blaise and Weasley got out of their chairs and tugged their friends up to stand, pushing them together.

"Make me proud, Draco!" Blaise smirked. "Dance like the bloody fool you are!"

"No, Gin, I don't want to-" Granger tried to rebuttal.

"Just how much alcohol was in those muggle drinks?" Draco whispered, and then said louder, "Well, you've made arses out of us. Congratulations." He moved to go back to his chair, but Blaise pulled out his wand, shrunk Draco's seat, and pocketed it. Weasley quickly did the same to Granger's.

"Dance!" she cheered.

"You competitive brats," Granger rolled her eyes. "We aren't circus monkeys to perform for you at any given time." And with that, she started toward the door.

Draco looked over to Blaise, decided that whatever was going to come out of his best friend's mouth wasn't going to be favorable, and said, "For once, I'm with Granger on this one. Cheers." He grabbed his martini glass, swigged down the rest, and followed her out the door, grabbing both of their cloaks in the process. "Granger, wait up!"

She stopped in the middle of the street, realizing her mistake.

"Oh…um, thank you, Malfoy." She took her cloak and put it on. Draco did the same. "Right kind of you." When she made to leave again, Draco's stomach bottomed out. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want her to go.

"Just so you know, Blaise would have won the bet." _Oh, yes, Draco. Taunt her. Because that always works out so well for you._

Granger stopped, turning on her heels. "As if." There was a fire in her eyes; one that Draco liked to stare into.

"I get why you left," he continued, "little chicken, clucking and ruffling her feathers and all."

"I am _not_ a _hen_. Though if anyone was a proud, strutting cock, it would be you."

"Listen to you clucking away…"

Granger stalked right up to him. "Listen here, you strutting little peacock. I've been sensitive because I understand your plight with your bride-to-be, but I won't be goaded into conceding to an arrogant git like you, so unless you plan to-"

Draco's hands curled around her, pulled her to him, and set them both into a dancing position. With a smirk, he said, "Called your bluff."

Almost satisfied, she replied, "Try not to step on my feet. I _know_ that's your signature move."

They stared competitively into each other's eyes as they set off on their first few dance steps they'd learned of the Tango, but Draco wasn't paying attention to anything but the feeling of her hand in his and the heat that washed over him as she glared stubbornly at him. He felt so alive in the moment, he didn't even notice he was getting the steps right. There wasn't any music, but he could almost hear it ghosting his eardrums - or maybe it was just the pulse of his heart. Where his skin touched hers felt on fire, and there was a churning in his stomach. In this moment, Draco Malfoy felt more alive than he had in such a long time.

"Told you I could keep up," she taunted him, and it was only then Draco noticed how fluid they moved together. Yes, the steps were slow, but they were precise and deliberate, like playing a game of chess. The moment he realized he was dancing - _actually dancing_ \- he lost his footing and stumbled back. Granger lost her balance as well, and her combined weight with his caused him to topple backward, her on top of him. Luckily, a flower bed outside the muggle pub broke their fall. Chestnut curls scattered around his head.

Granger sneezed into his chest. "Daffodils," she muttered, looking around to the broken plants. "I'm allergic."

The pub door opened, startling them both, but luckily it was just a drunken stranger. Granger dug her hands into his chest, leaving a solid impression in his mind of her riding his hips as she pushed herself up to stand. There, she helped him to his feet and began brushing the soil off of them both.

"We tell no one about this," Draco grumbled, horrified of what Astoria might think, but more so about the slight erection in his pants that he tried to find off.

"Agreed," Granger nodded. "The last thing we need in the papers is someone thinking we're rolling around in the bushes making love to each other."

The moment she said it, her entire face flared bright crimson. Draco thought back to his dreams, and of Granger and the chocolate frogs, the same color as her hair…

"Not that I think we'd _ever_ do that. I…goodnight, Malfoy." And then she turned and Disapparated on the spot.

* * *

**As always, reviews are welcome! They give me the biggest of smiles. (hearts) CAN YOU FEEL THE LOOOOOVE TONIGHT? Or at least the sexual tension? haha  
~A.**


	11. Friendly

 

****

**First off, I want to give a shout out to kika_kanyume7 and HufflepuffMommy because it's their birthdays today! Congrats, girls! This chapter goes out to you!  
As always, I need to thank two special ladies who helped make this chapter possible: LondonsLegend and LightofEvolution. Light helped me with the wonderful idea at the end of the chapter and caught a few of my errors during the writing process, so beta love to her. LondonsLegend perfected this chapter and gave me some things to go back and fix on some previous chapters, so beta love to her as well!**

**Thank you to everyone has reviewed and favorited this story thus far, and even a thank you to the ghost followers. ;) I know you're there. Haha. I only hope one day you come out of the woodworks. (hearts)**   
**~A.**

* * *

**_Edge of stage right: Draco Malfoy and 'friend'  
Setting: somewhere in a dream_ **

* * *

_"Oh, Merlin...suck it, yes, just like that...slower...yes," Draco hissed out between clenched teeth, running his fingers through her curly strands. The pressure around his cock was exquisite; he never wanted to come down from the high of her lips around his shaft and her tongue doing those naughty little movements, adding pressure in all the right ways. "Swallow my cock."_

_The witch below him giggled, bathing in the praises. The vibration of her throat nearly forced him to come apart then and there, but he bit his tongue and distracted himself long enough to fist her hair and pull her off of him so he could look her in the face. Soft, brown eyes glistened up at him with obedient splendor, yet they still danced with a hint of rebellion. Wait - why were they brown? Astoria's eyes were green. The rest of the face fell into focus, and he realized who sat nestled between his legs on the floor of his study, one hand on each of his thighs._

_"Something wrong?" she asked, her eyelashes fluttering._

_Lucid dreaming wasn't a common occurrence to Draco, but he recognized the signs immediately. "Why you?" he blurted out, trailing a thumb down her cheek and over to her pouty lips. She opened her mouth obediently, swiping her tongue across the pad of his finger. "Out of any witch, why is it you I keep fantasizing about?"_

_"It's obvious, isn't it?" she answered with an identical timbre to the real witch, climbing up into his lap and curling her legs around his hips. The only thing she wore was a thin scrap of a nightdress, but even that left nothing to the imagination. He could see her pert nipples through the fabric and could feel every rib and muscle in her abdomen as his fingers slid possessively down her sides. "I inspire you."_

_"Inspire?" he snorted a laugh, even as her hands slid over his and guided his fingers over her breasts with delicate movements. "What could I possibly need inspiration for?"_

_"How should I know? This is your dream," she whispered, now taking one of his hands and sliding it down her chest, her stomach, all the way to the hem of her nighty. "I'm merely a manifestation. The lesson is yours to figure out."_

_"Even in my dreams, you're still Granger, aren't you?" he muttered, deliberating how far he should take this dream now that he was aware it was one. "Always trying to teach everyone a lesson." He rested his fingers on her thigh, digging them in and earning a satisfied hiss from the brunette. She wanted him, that was for sure, and Draco couldn't deny this dream version of himself wanted her, too._

_"Draco…" she murmured, closing her eyes. "Draco, wake up...Draco…"_

"Draco, wake up."

Draco Malfoy bolted awake, eyes wide as he stared up at the face of Astoria Greengrass hovering over him in his bed, her soft hair tickling his face. "There you are, sleepy head." Her cool hand stroked down his cheek.

"What time is it?" he grumbled, eyes turning to the curtains to assess the sunlight; there was none to be found. "And why do you smell like a vineyard?"

"Daphne and I…we might have had a little to drink," Astoria giggled, brushing her nose against his. "I'm sorry. I was harsh on you in dance class. Daphne says I need to," _hiccup_ , "learn to not hold my," _hiccup,_ "feelings in until they explode." She snuggled into Draco's side and ran her hand down his abdomen to his lounge pants. "Speaking of explosions...someone was having a nice dream. Want me to fix the problem?"

Draco's cock was all for the suggestion. "Mmm…" He closed his eyes and let her stroke him a few times, growing even harder by the moment. He could have given in - it would have been so easy to, but his guilt sprung up like an unwanted daffodil and ruined his mood. Not only did he fantasize about bloody _Granger_ another night in a row, but the evening out proved something to him he hadn't realized until he'd tucked himself away in the covers of his bed some hours before; life went on without Astoria. The time spent with Blaise, Krum, and the platonic women breathed new life into him he didn't know he was missing. He enjoyed the conversing, the stupid bets, and even the competitive dance-off between him and Granger. Ever since the War, Draco had kept to himself for the most part, aside from Blaise and Daphne, and, eventually, Astoria. They'd been his anchors when he thought he was sinking from the overwhelming nightmares and death threats over his head. But last night had proven he hadn't needed someone to hold his hand to enjoy himself. And, truth be told, that scared the bloody Hell out of him.

"So, that's it?" he snapped. "All's forgiven?"

"Well, of course, it is." Astoria kissed his cheek and moved her hand over his engorged problem, softening his resolve. "Daphne explained it to me." Her lips trailed down his neck, leaving soft, wet kisses here and there.

"Explained what?" he sighed, eyes falling closed as he fell prey to her ministrations.

"How you want someone to take care of you, and that's why you didn't want to help with the wedding," she purred.

Draco sat upright in bed, brushing her hand away. His eyes focused in the dark and found hers, and his glare was stern. "What?"

"It's why you won't work with your mother in the company, isn't it? I'm not judging you," she said firmly. "I _want_ to take care of you."

The blood in his cock slowly but surely began rushing back to his head, and Draco scooted a few inches further away from her. "I never said I _wanted_ to be taken care of. Just because I show no interest in what type of icing we have on the cake or what color flowers we have doesn't mean I want to be _babied_ , Astoria."

"No, no. Not babied!" she agreed. "Just pampered."

Gryffindors might have been known for their pride, but Slytherins were known for their egos, and Astoria's words cut a large gash in Draco's. Granger's words, for whatever reason, popped into his head instantaneously. _I need someone I don't need to control like a child. I didn't want to always check to see if he packed his breakfast, if he did the laundry, or if he wrote to his mum. Ron… he's a great man, but he needs a sitter._ Right now, the way Astoria sounded, that's exactly what she thought of Draco.

"That isn't what I want at all," he said flatly, blinking in surprise. If his eleven-year-old self could hear him now, he'd be roaring in laughter and shouting that de-nial wasn't just a river in Egypt. However, as soon as the words tumbled from his mouth, Draco knew them to be true. He didn't want to be thought of as a spoiled child made for pampering - he wanted to be taken seriously as an adult.

"What do you want?" Astoria asked, confused. "If you tell me, I'm sure I can-"

"-What I _want_ is to be treated like everyone else. So, we had a fight. That doesn't mean you walk away. Merlin, do you know how much of a fool I felt when you stormed out of that dance class?"

"I didn't want to be seen bursting into tears, Draco," she huffed. "I'm not like you. I can't just battle it out. I need time to think about things. I don't quip with the best of them like you. Some of us need a quiet moment to collect our thoughts."

"Why? So you can make assumptions about me?"

"Assumptions? I'm only saying what everyone else knows to be true! You don't _do_ anything. You _laze_ around and _refuse_ to work for your father's company, yet you have no goals in life."

"Have you been talking to my mother?"

"That's beside the point!" she snapped. "Everyone knows you have no motivation. And here I am, telling you I accept you, warts and all, and you act like I've just slapped you in the face."

"I don't know how to break this to you, but telling someone they're a spoiled, pampered brat isn't any way to win them over."

"I never called you a brat."

"Oh, but you think I'm spoiled?"

"Well...yes!" She gestured around the room. "Have you taken a look at where you live? How you dress? Have you stopped to wonder what contribution you've made to affording any of it?"

"Says the woman who goes on shopping sprees every other weekend."

"Yes, with my _own_ money I've earned at _my_ father's company. Not with my inheritance, I'll have you know."

"Maybe I should just sleep in one of the guest bedrooms - I'm so _spoiled,_ you know. I can do that."

"Then go!"

"Fine!"

"Good!"

"Great!"

He stormed to the door and flung it open - a Gryffindor would have slammed it shut in defiance, but he was a Slytherin at heart, so he left it wide to force her to climb out of bed to close it. He grumbled all the way to the furthest guest bedroom down the hall and even grumbled as he climbed into bed, wide awake.

So much for make-up sex. Fuck...he might have just made everything worse. _Way to go, you sod_.

* * *

The next morning when he woke, Draco found a note waiting for him, hovering outside his door. He plucked it from the air and read,

_I'm sorry about last night. I didn't mean for things to escalate the way they did. I'll be gone all day with my father on business, but my parents have invited us to brunch tomorrow morning. I hope you come. They'd like to see how we've progressed in dance lessons - I told them you were getting better. Prove me right?_

_With love,_

_Astoria_

* * *

**Center Stage: Draco, Hermione, and Greg Diggle**   
**Setting: Dance Studio Uno**

* * *

"I have to admit, Greg," said Hermione, peering over the steps of the platform, "without your father, these lessons do seem to be going smoother today."

"Yes, him having a cold has appeared to lighten my spirits as well," Greg grinned from the floor. Malfoy stood at the edge of the pedestal, his grey eyes distracted even as they shimmered up at her expectantly.

"Are you going to fall or what?" he demanded, wand outstretched in show.

"Oh, shut it, you," Hermione chided, half serious. She decided on two more steps higher than the last lesson and waited on the steps below her to fold in on themselves. Then, she glanced down at Malfoy and grinned. This would be the fifth trust fall between them today, and they were getting better at it by the minute. Maybe it had been the evening before that lifted their spirits. Something of a bond formed between them easily since last night, and when they had walked in today, there was a familiarity. They spoke casually to each other, and Malfoy had explained that Zabini and Ginny were left with the tab that evening, including to pay for Viktor's expensive bottle of vodka. Neither of them talked about her awkward slip-up of words, and that sat just fine with Hermione. She didn't need to be reminded how embarrassing it all was, having spent the night pouring over her newly bought Alchemy book just to keep herself distracted enough not to dream of Malfoy when she finally fell asleep.

"I'm growing old, Granger. By the time you fall, we'll both have grandchildren," he teased, his signature smirk plastered on his face like a beacon in the middle of a lake. Hermione rolled her eyes, crossed her arms over her chest, and let herself fall back, the wind whipping through her hair. She landed on a soft pillow of magic three feet from the ground, smiling from the thrill. Now that she was used to the fall, she rather enjoyed it. Adrenaline junkie, she was not, but it still didn't mean that, under the right parameters, she couldn't enjoy a controlled bit of excitement. Malfoy offered out his hand and pulled her up on her feet again, looking rather pleased with himself.

"This is beginning to be too easy for you both," said Greg, giving a yawn. "Don't let my father see it."

"Why not?" asked Hermione. "Isn't that the point of these exercises? Trust?"

"He says that, but they're really to push you to your breaking point. Next, he'll be placing a tank of electric eels or some sort of showy, dangerous thing below the pillar, if you aren't careful." He brought his finger to his lips. "But you didn't hear it from me."

"In muggle dance classes, people simply learn the steps."

"Yes, well, in muggle dance class, they also are oblivious to craftsmanship," sneered Malfoy.

"That isn't true," she retorted. "My great-aunt happened to be a world renowned ballerina and traveled worldwide in a production for The Nutcracker."

"And yet none of the talent seems to have trickled down to you. Pity."

"You're a bit more salty than normal," Hermione pointed out. "Anything you wish to share with the class?"

Malfoy smirked, climbing the steps and taking five more than last time to show her up. "Nope!" he called from the top before he fell back without warning. Hermione quickly levitated him to the ground and smacked him on the shoulder. "Ouch! What was that for?"

"You could let a person know when you're about to leap off a pillar, you know."

"When I see a person, I'll be sure to do that."

"Whatever." Hermione crossed her arms. She didn't understand it; one moment, Malfoy was cool, calm, and collected, and the next he was a bundle of jerkish quips and arrogance. There was only one reason she could deduce as to his bipolar mood swings. "You and Astoria haven't quite made amends, I take it?"

"Oh, what gave it away?" he mumbled sarcastically.

Greg stepped in between them, eyeing Malfoy with scrutiny. "Alright. This isn't a boxing ring, so take the insults outside or keep them to yourself. We're here to dance." He exchanged courteous glances with Hermione before saying, "Take it from the top. Feet placement is the name of the game here, today."

Malfoy offered out his hand with a bored yawn, and Hermione took it, setting their stance in proper practice etiquette. As they set off in their steps, the blond eyed Greg from across the room and whispered, "Do I detect a bit of sexual tension?"

"Excuse me?" Hermione tightened in his grasp.

"Between you and Casanova over there."

"Oh." She blushed. "Well, he did ask me to dinner yesterday."

Malfoy stumbled off beat and quickly made up for it. "Oh?"

"I...said I'd have to think about it," she admitted.

Malfoy nodded. "Any particular reason?"

Oddly enough, Hermione had asked herself the same question. It wasn't as if Greg wasn't good looking or kind -of those qualities, he seemed to have an abundance. He had drive, personality, and charisma. But still… "I don't know him well, do I?"

Both of them turned their eyes conspicuously on Diggle before looking at each other.

"Isn't that the point of a date? To get to know someone?"

"I don't like dating people I'm not already friends with first," she whispered offhand.

"How long do you intend for him to wait for your answer?" Malfoy asked, seemingly irritated at her. "Either throw the man a bone or stop dangling the steak in front of his face."

"Did you just compare me to a steak?"

"Did I say steak? I meant table scraps."

"Whatever's going on between you and your bride to be, it doesn't mean you need to take it out on me," she snapped suddenly, breaking their dance. Greg gave them both a look that forced them to step into stride once again, and, to Hermione's surprise, she heard Malfoy mutter, "My apologies. Things with Astoria are...tense, as of late." His grip on her hand tightened.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, but even she could hear the foreign tone in her voice. Was that jealousy lurking in the crevices of her psyche? No, surely not. That would never do. Perhaps it was concern. Yes, that sounded much better.

"Do you think I'm…" he started but cut himself off last moment.

"What?"

"Never mind."

"No, go on. What is it?" She was vaguely aware they'd mastered a side step with little effort, and her pride swelled.

"Do you think I'm lazy?" he blurted out, his eyebrows knitting together. "Blast it all, forget I said anything." Quickly, he ducked his head, focusing on their feet - and tripped twice.

Hermione didn't like that defeated look on Malfoy's face one bit - yes, he was a prat, arrogant and selfish to boot, but lazy? "I don't think I've ever associated you with that word. In school, you always made extra effort to be a prat to Harry, Ron and I. You strove for good grades and extracurriculars, and even now, you're taking the hard road all in an effort to learn a dance you don't particularly care for all to appease your fianceé. If you ask me, none of that screams 'lazy' in my book."

Malfoy smirked thoughtfully, his eyes meeting hers. "I'm glad someone sees it that way."

"Has your bruised ego been sated?"

"Quite, actually."

"Great. You're stepping on my toe."

The rest of lessons went swimmingly in comparison to any of the others. They tried out a few more complicated steps with Greg, who took it upon himself to teach Malfoy one on one - which was to say, taking the lead as the two men were forced to dance together. Hermione giggled wildly at the sight, all the while with Malfoy muttering that if she told anyone, he would hex her. Still, there was a playfulness in his tone that wasn't easy to miss, and she decided that perhaps her reasons for being fascinated with the man had nothing to do with adoration. Maybe what she was looking for in Malfoy was friendship? She could get on board with that. She hoped that's what she was secretly craving.

Alas, when Greg told her to try the steps out with Malfoy, and their hands clasped in one another's, Hermione's heart fluttered. _No,_ she thought, _this is definitely more than friendship wanted...why? I don't understand!_

By the end of the dance lesson, Hermione was frustrated with herself. Malfoy stepping on her toe one final time was just the last straw. "That really hurts, you know!" She sighed, unraveling herself from him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped. I just...have a lot on my mind."

"Believe me," Malfoy grumbled, sticking his hands in his pockets, "I know the feeling." His eyes followed hers as she strode over to her bag and began to fish out a water bottle. Quickly, she found her wand and slipped the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "Where are you off in such a hurry?"

"Me?" she blinked. "Oh. I have an appointment in Diagon. Work related." She noticed the way Greg hung back near the door, and out of nervousness, she continued to stand with Malfoy.

"Will it take long?"

"No more than an hour," she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Why?"

* * *

Yes, why? Draco couldn't put his finger on it, so he quickly made up an excuse as to his inquiry. "I was wondering if we could meet up afterward-" Shit, what was he saying? "-to go over dance steps, of course."

"Of course," Granger smiled, a hint of blush to her cheeks. "But…"

"But?"

"We have another lesson tomorrow afternoon. Why tonight? Shouldn't you be with Astoria?"

Ah, yes. Astoria. "She won't be home tonight. But she _is_ the reason for meeting up," he quickly found his excuse, "Astoria wants us to show her parents what we've learned in dance class. I'd rather not make a fool of myself."

"I see…" Granger tilted her head. "But I'm sure you could practice with her once she's arrived home."

Yes, but home wasn't where he wanted to be. To be alone in his home sounded bloody awful, and he was selfishly enjoying his time with Granger. While she wasn't upper-class, she held her own against him, and her ego-feeding boost from earlier made him want to get to know her better. He couldn't explain it, but he felt a need in him to learn whatever lesson 'dream Granger' was trying to teach him. And the only way to do that was to be around the real woman.

"Yes, but she's much better than me," he drawled. "I'm better practicing with someone on my level."

That got her attention. "On your level? Malfoy, I'm doing far better than you - Greg even says so."

"Greg wants into your knickers. He's going to say whatever he can to do that. I, however, have no intention of getting into those-" Were they cotton? Lace? _No, bad. Very bad, Draco._ "-undergarments of yours, so I have no qualms about telling you when you're awful."

"I'm not awful!"

"So you won't mind putting your skills to the test tonight," he challenged.

Something clicked in the back of Granger's mind - something dangerous and specific. Half smirking, she took the bait, but Draco felt like he was on the fishing hook instead as she said, "Alright then, Malfoy. You're on. Where and when?"

"Oh." He hadn't thought of that. "I...er…"

With a grin, she shrugged. "Don't worry. I have just the place. Make sure to wear something...casual. Meet me at this address-" She scribbled something down on a strip of paper from her bag, "-at eight tonight? Would that be too late?"

Trying to act casual, he gave a slight shrug. "Eight is fine."

"Great."

* * *

**Stage left: Draco and Hermione and...other people. Ugh.**   
**Setting: ?*?*?**

* * *

This wasn't what Draco Malfoy had in mind. Not at all! Glancing around at the muggle 'community center' -whatever that was- he shot Granger a contemptible glare and said, "If this is your idea of some sick joke…"

"Not at all. Come on," she waved him forward, "There's someone I want you to meet." She grabbed him by the cuff of his sleeve, careful to make sure their hands didn't touch as she led him to a circular table at the back. Seated at it were five elderly ladies, all wearing variations of the color purple and bright red hats on top of their heads. The leader (and Draco could only assume she was by the amount of gaudy jewelry she wore and the fact that she wore a red feathered plume in the side of her hat) grinned ear to ear at the sight of Granger and clapped her hands excitedly.

"Oh, Hermione, dear! It's wonderful to see you!" She reached out, grabbed Granger by the arms, and pulled her in for a hug that surely suffocated the younger witch. "Is this him?" she whispered, though it was still loud enough for Draco to hear.

Granger turned and smirked. "Yes, Bessie. This is him."

"He's a strapping man, isn't he?" Bessie quirked her penciled eyebrows in satisfaction, looking Draco over.

"Excuse me, but - what the _Bloody Hell_ is going on?"

"Malfoy, manners," Granger scolded. "I'd like you to meet my Great-Aunt Elizabeth Granger and the North England chapter of the Red Hat Society. These wonderful ladies are going to be your dance coaches this evening."

* * *

**As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts!**   
**Much love**

**A.**


	12. The Red Hat Society

 

****

**Well, here we are. Another chapter of Tango! LightofEvolution deserves all of the credit for giving me some amazing dialogue in this chapter, including a discussion of Theodore Nott (you all will see what I mean.) LondonsLegend deserves all of her beta love, and a big thank you for helping me delve into some character developments, along with the ideas of POV's.**

**Someone mentioned Anastasia's "Learn To Do It Waltz Reprise" and how it reminded them of this story. XD Omg, I love that movie. So much.**

**Just a gentle reminder: this is not an Astoria bashing fic. Nor a Ron bashing. I've tried (and am still trying) to make these characters as human as possible. All of them, Draco and Hermione included, have flaws. Thus is the human condition.**

**Thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing! Don't forget, you can 'like' me on facebook under MrBenzedrine to get updates and see pretty aesthetics!**   
**With love,**   
**~A.**

* * *

**Center Stage: Draco and Hermione**   
**Setting: Five Red Hat Ladies and a Community Center**

* * *

While she sat at the community table with her Great Aunt Bessie, Hermione couldn't help but giggle as she watched four postmenopausal women scrutinize everything from Malfoy's 'too rigid' posture to his 'unnatural' hair color. Poor Malfoy looked as if he was getting patted down for a random security check at an airport with the way the ladies had their hands on him, showing him how far to set his stance and criticize his now permanent sneer. It became obvious to Hermione from the get-go that Malfoy's idea of practicing did _not_ involve a real life presentation from women who resembled the Golden Girls franchise (not that he would know what that was) - but she was impressed when, after ten minutes of relentless nitpicking, Malfoy began to _listen._ He loosened the imaginary bolts in his shoulders, even conceding to a smile or two as the ladies fawned over his straight teeth and immaculate grooming. Every thirty seconds or so, he would flash his eyes over in Hermione's direction, halfway between irritation and amusement.

Once the ladies had finished stripping him of his vest and expensive dragonhide shoes, they ushered him back up to the table and presented him to Aunt Bessie, who nodded in what seemed like approval.

"Now _this_ I can work with," she said.

"They've ransacked me," Malfoy muttered, again turning his eyes on Hermione; this time, they twinkled in shy appreciation. _He must have really enjoyed the pruning,_ she thought to herself. "Granger, may I have a word?"

Hermione wasn't used to the politeness from the man, so it took her a moment to register his words. When she did, she gave a gentle nod and followed him away from the tittering ladies and waited for him to continue.

"Are any of these ladies aware of our...abilities?" he asked, eyeing them out of the corner of his vision.

"No," she answered him, shaking her head.

"So, what do they think you _do_ for a career?"

"Honestly?" Her cheeks warmed with blush. "A Barrister. It's not _technically_ a lie - I just happen to work with house elves instead of-"

"-They _might_ be under the impression we work together."

Suddenly, all of the blood drained from Hermione's face. She was astonished, to say the least. "Why would they think that?" she asked slowly.

"I panicked!" he admitted under his breath, "They kept asking me how I knew you, and I wasn't sure if you had mentioned me at all from our days back in school, and I didn't want them to think-"

"-Think what? What did you not want them to think?"

It was his turn to redden in the face, and he glanced over her shoulder at the ladies waiting for them. "I just didn't know if you told them anything about what went on between us or..."

A sudden gush of heat cracked over Hermione's head like a runny egg, oozing into the crevices of her psyche. She stared in bewilderment, caught somewhere between embarrassed and flattered. To counter her mixture of emotions, she said the first thing that came to mind: "Well, Malfoy, that would infer you were worth talking about back in our school days."

Catching her playful tone, he smirked and countered, "Trust me, Granger. I know I was rememberable."

"Well now, _Barrister,_ do you _actually_ know anything about the legal profession?"

"Not a clue," he shrugged. "But how difficult could it really be? After all, you're practically one yourself in the wizarding world - and if _you_ can do it..."

After a scathing look from Hermione, the pair returned back to the ladies at the table, who insisted that she remove her shoes. Once that was settled, they pushed the pair together and set them up like dolls, an arm here and a leg there.

"This isn't quite what I had in mind when I asked to practice tonight," muttered Malfoy, his face exceptionally close - so close, she could feel his breath ghost across her cheek. For all of the erotic dreams she'd been having, not one of them compared to having the real thing pressed up against her and in such a close proximity.

"What _did_ you have in mind?" she asked him. The tension between them thickened when he didn't respond.

"Now, show us your moves," said Bessie, strumming her arthritic fingers across the table, resembling the Queen of England in the way her eyes flickered in judgement. Hermione felt very out of place amongst the older women, who all had danced professionally at one time, but she stifled her feelings for now. If they wanted to get better without falling into tanks of eels, this is what they would have to do.

"Wait!" said one of the ladies, waddling over to a nearby record player in the corner of the room. "I have just the song!" She bent over with flexibility not usually afforded to the elderly and sifted through a box of records on the floor. Blowing on one and sending a puff of dust into the air, she set it on the record player and steadied the needle.

Hermione recognized the song immediately; it was one of the songs her parents danced to at their wedding (she might have watched their wedding video countless times while eating tubs of ice cream after her break up with Ron). Sarah Vaughn's colorful voice lit like a spark in the air, and with it, the seductive lyrics of _Whatever Lola Wants_.

"The counts are easy to remember," called Bessie, playing with the feathered plume on her hat. "Slow, slow, quick quick slow."

"Now _that_ I can remember," said Malfoy with a smirk. "Great Aunt Bessie's already giving Señor Diggle a run for his money."

"And she's doing it for free," Hermione reminded him.

"What does she want in return?" Malfoy took the first step on cue with the music, guiding her backward and far less fumbled than he was in class earlier that day. He glanced skeptically over to the old woman.

"For her great grandniece to succeed," she answered. "She's a perfectionist."

"Like you," he pointed out.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she smiled all the same. "Like me."

"Chin up, Mister Malfoy!" said the plumpest of the women, "Or yours will surely fall to the floor."

Malfoy grumbled under his breath, "It looks as if she has a few chins to spare, if it does."

Hermione purposefully stepped on his toes to spite him.

"Ah! Fuck!"

"Language!" corrected Bessie.

"Posture!" called the tallest of the women.

"Chin!"

Attempting to correct himself, Malfoy glared daggers at Hermione and asked, "Why aren't they correcting you?"

"I imagine they want to see you succeed, too. And they already know I'm much better than you."

"Hmph. You wish." He quickened the pace and worked through the steps impressively, even managing to keep the time. Hermione raised her eyebrows, impressed, but it was nothing compared to the whistles and catcalls from the elderly ladies at the table.

"Yes!" shouted Bessie. "Oh, that was marvelous, Mister Malfoy!"

With a confidence he wore in his youth, Malfoy flashed a smirk and bowed accordingly.

"Such manners," whispered the plump woman.

"Believe me, he can be a real cod at times," Hermione said, nudging him gently in the side with her elbow. Truth be told, she was a small bit proud for the Malfoy man; he managed to pick up the steps easier this time, and with flair.

"Reset," said Bessie. "From the top."

As they practiced their footwork, Malfoy struck up a conversation. "Do you know who Theodore Nott plans to bring as his plus one to the wedding?" He seemed to say this softer, so as the older ladies might not hear. Curious, Hermione thought. She hadn't mentioned Malfoy's engagement to the Red Hat Society (because it wasn't their business to know), but it seemed as if Malfoy didn't want them knowing, either. Maybe he just didn't want them asking him questions.

"Who?" she asked.

"Adrian Pucey."

A broad grin broke out on Hermione's face. "Well, it's about time they went public!"

Malfoy's face fell into one of confusion. "Huh?" This was, obviously, not the answer he'd expected.

"I caught them 'studying' in the library our fifth year. Really, it was more of a scandal, to me, that a seventh year would be interested in a fifth year." She shrugged.

"And how did you react?" asked Malfoy. "Did you blush all over?" His eyes seemed to trail down her frame in the moment. Hermione felt her throat tighten at the thought of Malfoy imagining her out of her clothes. Oh, she was being preposterous, wasn't she?

"No, I handed them a brochure about an LGBT meeting in Diagon Alley." When Malfoy shot her an inquisitive stare, she added, "Parvati Patil was a frequent member."

"I see…" He nodded. "Actually, that makes sense. There were a few times where I tried to pick up the Patil twins, and neither were very perceptive to the idea."

"It was only Parvati that batted for the same team. I assume Padma wasn't interested in you for your personality."

"Notice how you didn't mention my good looks being a reason she'd turn me down," he laughed, _really_ laughed; it was an infectious sound that lit up the room. Hermione found herself laughing with him, though she wasn't sure why. Maybe because they were getting along _for once._ It was refreshing, to say the least - a boost to her spirit.

"You never did say who _you_ were bringing," he said, more restrained.

"Oh, um...Charlie Weasley."

"Head straight, Mister Malfoy!" Bessie interrupted, though she didn't know it. "I know my Hermione is a fetching creature, but do try to control your neck placement while staring."

Malfoy cleared his throat, averting his eyes as he poised his neck. "Why am I not surprised you're bringing a Weasley?"

"It's just as a friend."

"Really? And here I was beginning to believe red hair was your weakness," he chided.

"I happen to appreciate an active mind."

"Weasley is a walking contradiction to that, you know."

"Ron might not be 'book smart', but he's intelligent. I guarantee you, he'd beat you at a game of Wizard's Chess."

"Sounds like a challenge." Malfoy's eyes lit up, and his face grew slightly closer to hers. That was, until Great Aunt Bessie reminded him, yet again, how terrible his neck alignment was. "So, if you're into intelligence, why is it you never found an interest in obviously more suited wizards."

"Like who?" she asked, though it was a loaded question. One particular wizard came to mind, and his hand was on her hip at the moment.

"Hermione, dear," chimed in Bessie, drawing the two out of their personal bubble. "You two have yet to do a high kick."

"That's because Diggle hasn't taught us it, yet," she answered definitively.

"No time like the present," said the thinnest Red Hat member, the corners of her wrinkled lips pulled back in a tender smile.

"I don't think we're ready…"

"Nonsense! Come now, dear. Show us your kick."

Hermione was grateful she wore her pants today after all. She looked to Malfoy, who shrugged as if to say, 'What have you got to lose?' With an affirmative mindset, Hermione braced onto Malfoy's arm and did her best high kick - which, all in all, was lackluster and lifted not nearly as high as required. Several of the Red Hats made faces, and two averted their gaze entirely. Malfoy sniggered under his breath.

"Oh. Oh, dear. Hermione, have you not been practicing high kicks at home?"

"I didn't think I needed to yet," she admitted.

"Well, I should say you do," Bessie said with a firm nod, solidifying the demand. "How high can you get your leg up?"

"Um…" Hermione chewed on her lower lip and looked to Malfoy. "Spot me?"

"Why not?" he smirked.

Inhaling with determination, Hermione kicked up again, a bit higher this time. To her surprise, Malfoy caught her calf muscles and steadied her leg in place. The warmth of his hand sent shivers down her body, but she said nothing, instead exchanging understanding glances with him as she pushed her leg up further. Malfoy continued to steady her, stretching her leg while his other hand rested against her waist. His face was inches from hers, and Hermione became increasingly aware of how wonderful he smelled. She didn't make it as high as required for the high kick, but she got close. Malfoy released her and helped her steady her foot back to the ground, hand still on her side.

"Practice," said Bessie. "Three times a day. In the water, if you can. It will help. And stretch! I'm sure Mister Malfoy would be pleased to assist you." She gave a naughty wink.

"Aunt Bessie!" Hermione blushed. Malfoy sniggered into his hand, lost of breath from all of the laughter.

"Come now, Lizzy," he said, addressing the old woman as if they were chums, "Hermione would have to ask for help, and we both know she'd never do it." His eyes grew dark and slated as he shot Hermione a wink of his own.

It then dawned on her; he used her first name.

And she liked it.

* * *

**Stage Left: Draco Malfoy and guest**   
**Setting: A lone spotlight, possibly another damn dream.**

* * *

" _That's it," he purred, pressing her wet back against his chest as he pulled her closer - close enough for her to feel his prick standing at attention for her. His fingers were curled around her ankle as he tilted her leg up, over the water of some reflected pool (a lake, perhaps? But the water was so crystal clear). Granger wore nothing but a thin camisole that was soaked to the skin and a pair of lacy hip hugging underwear. Draco was completely nude, but he didn't mind; in fact, he liked the intimacy of being so close to her, helping her stretch her leg as high as it could go. His fingers slid down her leg to her thigh as his lips touched the side of her ear, gentle and possessive._

" _Lower," she whispered, still attempting to keep the poise of her leg up in the air ._

" _Like this?" he whispered, moving his hand and cupping her exposed arse. Granger gasped in approval, letting her leg fall back into the water. It made a splash, but neither one cared. All that mattered was the way he praised her neck in sweet kisses of adoration and kneaded her ass slowly. Careful with her, he turned her around to face him, noticing the way the light reflected the water, illuminating her unique features. Every freckle, every laugh line called his attention. She was more than good looking - her smile called to his soul. Just like it had in that blasted Community center… in reality. This wasn't reality._

" _You're not really here," he whispered as she wrapped her arms around his neck and coiled her legs around his waist. Instinctively, he reached to steady her and found his hands once again on her ass, bringing their bodies as close together as they could without him being_ inside _her. And oh, how the dream Draco wanted to be inside the dream Hermione Granger. Damn it for lucid dreaming, because he knew it was wrong to want it._

" _Did you figure out your lesson yet?" she asked, brushing her velvety lips along his jaw and down his neck. Her tongue snuck out and raced across his pulsepoint, quickening his heart._

" _That I want to shag the ever-living-fuck out of you?"_

" _That's a want - not a lesson."_

" _Care to give me a hint?"_

" _No." She tilted her head back to brush her nose against his. "What I want right now is for you to shag the ever-living-fuck out of me."_

" _Damn it, Granger," he sighed as she brushed her covered clit against him. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't wake up right now."_

" _Do you want to?" she asked, her brown eyes blinking back at him._

_Draco thought about it, and his hands slipped underneath her, dragging one, long finger down her covered pussy lips. He tugged her panties to the side and felt her slickness, even beneath the water. "To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what I want."_

* * *

Draco Malfoy awoke abruptly, covered in a thick sheen of sweat.

* * *

**Stage Right: Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy**   
**Setting: Greengrass Estates, lunch time**

* * *

"You came," Astoria sighed with relief as Draco stepped through the floo. In his hands was a bouquet of roses (as per suggested by Granger after lessons to get back in Astoria's good graces).

"I did," he said with a nod. Things were jumbled up in his head, so he couldn't say much more than that. His dreams were getting the better of him, pulling him down into the water to drown him. Hermione Granger, for all intents and purposes, was just a witch he danced with during lessons. He had no obligations to her, nor she to him, and yet he couldn't shake her from his head in the late hours of the evening last night or this morning. And here was Astoria, looking as pleased as pie to see him, and he couldn't even muster a smile. Her words hurt him, but he was sure he hadn't been much better. Their fight tore a rift between them, and he didn't know how they could stitch it back.

"Such a romantic," Astoria noted, taking the flowers. She batted her eyelashes, nervousness blooming in her chest. She hadn't been sure if he would come at all, but here he was - and he looked less pleased to see her than he'd ever been.

She wasn't sure what she'd done wrong. Okay, that wasn't entirely truthful, but damn it all! How was she supposed to support him if she wasn't even sure what he wanted out of life? When Daphne had mentioned that Malfoys liked to be pampered, she was sure it had to be the reason why Draco had failed to launch. But, truth be told, it frustrated her when he showed hardly an interest in anything, even the things he was passionate about, like Alchemy. When they'd first got together, she'd chalked it up to the War for his shyer disposition and antisocial nature. The Draco Malfoy that flourished under the limelight had taken a backseat to the ill tempered, unmotivated Draco today. All of this time, she thought she would be able to motivate him, but he always did the bare minimum.

That was, until these dance lessons.

Why then, all of a sudden, did he motivate himself to do so well in something he despised? He couldn't even find it in him to help her choose a meal plan, but he could throw money at dancing, which he claimed to despise?

She wished she understood him better.

"My parents are excited to see you," she said, dusting the floo soot off of his shirt and tidying his hair. He used to love it when she pruned him, but he no longer wore the familiar smile. He appeared troubled. "Is something wrong?"

"Didn't sleep well," he admitted, running his fingers through his blond locks and messing them up all over again. With a roll of her eyes, Astoria sighed and gave up trying to tend to his hair.

During lunch, he spoke only when spoken to, sometimes fading out all together. Astoria would have to kick him under his chair to snap him out of his thoughts, and he would come back with a fake smile of sincerity, mumbling out an apology.

"How are the wedding preparations coming along, sweetums?" Astoria's mother asked, patting her red lips with her napkin at the end of their meal.

"Wonderful, Mama. Madame Mystique was a wonderful suggestion. We've hardly had to lift a finger in the way of planning…" The awkward silence dragged on as she attempted to make eye contact with Draco, only to find him staring down into his goblet of pumpkin juice, unaware. "And Draco's dance lessons are going swimmingly...from what I hear…"

"Is that right?" Helga Greengrass turned her attention on Draco.

Without missing a beat, he replied, "Well, I don't stumble over my own two feet anymore, if that's what you mean." So he _was_ listening.

"Astoria promised us a preview," said Astoria's father, Bernard.

"Yes," Astoria smiled, kicking Draco once more in the ankles. He popped his head up and nodded in agreement.

"Well, let's seen then!" said Helga.

Astoria, to her credit, tried very hard to seem chipper when she ushered Draco out of his seat and led him to the free floor space away from the table. "Hand on my waist," she reminded him, sending him a tender smile. He replied with one back as he set his stance, but it was hollow. Astoria's heart saddened. Since when did she dim his world instead of light it?

* * *

Draco was a nervous wreck thinking of the steps and where to put his feet. He hated being put on the spot like this, but he knew if he didn't, it would end in another argument with Astoria. Is this what marriage would be like? Shutting up to avoid fights? He knew not being able to speak his feelings was getting the better of him, and so he bottled them up, thinking they'd make a wonderful weapon when they, eventually, blew up.

_Slow slow, fast fast slow…_

His feet set to work, and his head held high. The nagging of the Red Hat Society must have really did a number on him, because all he heard were their shrill voices inside his head. Every time he closed his eyes, Astoria turned into Granger. He couldn't explain it, and he released a bored sigh, hardly paying attention to how well he was doing.

He attempted conversation, thinking about the only thing they had in common nowadays: the wedding. "Has Theo told you who he plans to bring as his plus one to the wedding?"

"No," Astoria replied. "Haven't a clue."

With a smirk, Draco dropped the bombarding spell. "Adrian Pucey."

He expected a giggle, or perhaps a slight gasp of surprise, but he didn't expect her eyes to go wide and her jaw to drop. It wasn't as if they both didn't know Theo's sexual preferences, but - "Oh, no," she muttered.

"Excuse me?" Draco felt his eyebrows sew together.

"I mean...I didn't even know he was seeing anyone." She chewed on her lower lip, glancing at her family, and then she said, in a lower voice, "We...we could arrange them to sit at a table together, but give them surrogate dates."

"What? Surrogate dates?"

"Naturally. We can't very well have wizard, witch, wizard, witch, wizard, wizard at a table, could we? And what if they dance together? Or kiss!"

"Yes, so what of it?" Draco stopped dancing, growling under his breath, "I had no idea you were intolerant."

"Draco, you _know_ me. _I'm_ not the intolerant one. But…" She set her eyes on her parents again, then back to Draco. "The older generations of purebloods aren't as accepting, are they? And if the press gets ahold of it? What do you think will be the headline? Malfoy wedding or Nott coming out of the closet?"

"I really don't care _what_ the press has to say. He's our friend, and he should be able to take who he wants."

"I agree! Completely! But it isn't me you'd need to convince." The gears in Astoria's heads were already churning. "I know the perfect candidates. Two of my former schoolmates also have...certain reluctance to polishing broomsticks, so to speak."

"Or, we could set a precedent for our generation and not care who brings who to a wedding," Draco snapped. "Merlin, Astoria. I feel like we don't know each other at all."

"Believe me, the feeling is mutual."

"Everything alright, dears?" asked Missus Greengrass.

Draco reached for his stomach and faked a groan. "My stomach seems to be giving me trouble. I'm sorry, I need to have a lie-down." Quieter, he said to Astoria, "You need to decide what's important in this relationship: us, or what others think of us." And then he turned and walked away, taking his leave toward the floo.

* * *

**As always, reviews make me giddy, but no pressure.**   
**~A.**


	13. Little Black Dress

****

 

 **Thank you, everyone, for your patience! Here's another chapter! I couldn't have done this without two special ladies. LightofEvolution gave me some gems of dialogue between Greg and Hermione, as well as some cute moments to place in the mix. Without her, this chapter wouldn't be possible. LondonsLegend** beta'd **the crap out of this story and put up with my (obvious) errors. She deserves all the love for that.**

 **I realize I've been forgetting to post quotes with the chapters. Why am I such a dunce? I'll go back later and do just that, but for now, take this chapter as a token of my love.**  
**~A.**

* * *

 **"Nothing is impossible.**  
**The word itself is 'I'm possible.'"**  
**~Audrey Hepburn**

* * *

 **Stage Right: Hermione and Harry**  
**Setting: Diagon Alley, outside the same shop for what seems like forever.**

* * *

Hermione gave an impatient sigh, tapping Harry on the shoulder. "You've been looking at the same shop window for over an hour now. Maybe you just want to head in, or…?"

"Uh, um, no. That's okay." Harry shook his head, rubbing the back of his onyx tresses while his eyes stayed transfixed on the same white-gold wedding ring adorned with a simple, princess-cut diamond. His eyes asked it all, ' _Would Ginny like it? Was it too soon?'_

Hermione rolled her eyes, ushering Harry by the arm toward the shop door. "Come on, Mister Potter. You've waited long enough."

"No - Hermione - I can't-" But the unassuming Harry was dragged into the shop, the bell tinkering above their heads to announce their arrival. The shopkeeper immediately raised his pudgy head, grinning ear-to-ear to see potential customers.

"Ah! Hello! Welcome!" He stalked around the counter; immediately, his eyes fell on Harry's lightning bolt scar, and the old man's face grew even more impressed. "Bless my stars. Harry _Potter_ in _my_ shop. You're a very lucky young woman." He caught eyes with Hermione.

"Oh, n-no," Hermione's ears turned the color of a tomato. "Not me. I'm not - we're not…"

"Oh. My apologies." The shopkeeper offered his hand out for Harry to shake. "Bernard Cobblestone, at your service. Well, whomever the young lady is, she's bound to be a catch to have caught your eye."

"You don't know who he's with?" Hermione blurted out.

Bernard pushed his specs up his nose. "I try not to listen to the gossip threads. Most of the time, they're incorrect."

Harry took his hand immediately, appreciative. "Ginny. Her name is Ginny."

"Ginny. Lovely name." Bernard paused. "Ginny _Weasley_ , by chance?"

"Er...yeah."

"Lovely girl."

"You know her?"

"Admittedly, no. But I heard she just got signed on to the Harpies, and they're my team of choice."

Hermione smirked, thoroughly pleased with herself. Harry seemed much more at ease upon Bernard's admission, and the two men fell into an easy cadence with each other, talking about Ginny's likes and dislikes to provide her with just the right engagement ring. When she was sure he wasn't going to bolt, Hermione tapped him on the shoulder once more to say, "I'm going to pop over to another shop for a moment. I'll be back in two shakes."

"Sure," Harry grinned. Just as Hermione turned around to take her leave, the doorbell dinged to life once more, and another customer walked through the door - a familiar one, by Hermione's standards.

Zabini.

"Merlin, Granger. You move fast, don't you?" Zabini smirked in delight. He carried a small bag in his left hand, seemingly at ease within the shop, as if he'd been here many times before.

Hermione was confused. "Excuse me?"

"Well, I mean, you only got asked out by Greg a week ago, weren't you? And now, here you are, looking at engagement rings?" Amused, he sauntered past the fiery brunette and set his bag down on the counter. "The usual cleaning, Bernard. There are two more of Daphne's newest trinkets in the bag."

"Not a problem, Mister Zabini," Bernard nodded.

As Zabini walked past her again, Hermione whispered, under her breath, "How, um, did you know about Greg?"

"You told Draco, didn't you? I'm his best mate. There's nothing that we don't share with each other - well, except for Greengrass sisters, of course. Astoria's got a hearty stick up her taut arse. Don't think I want to be the one to pull it out. And I'm a one-woman kind of chap, aren't I?" He paused, musing at his own words. "Anyway, have you decided if you're done dangling the steak yet?"

"I really don't think it's any of your business…"

Zabini shrugged. "Fine, don't tell me. I'm sure I'll find out from Draco eventually." He gave Harry a nod of the head, saying, a bit louder, "About time, wouldn't you say? All Weasley does in class is talk about how you won't pop the question."

Harry's cheeks stained with red as Zabini took his leave, waving theatrically. When he was out the door, he threw his head back, and robusts laughs escaped his lips. He didn't stop laughing until he was out of sight from the window - or, maybe he was still laughing. It was difficult to tell.

"...Class?" Harry squeaked out. "As in _dance class?_ Ginny's been talking about our relationship in _dance class_?" He stared in horror at the door, as if Zabini still stood there.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," Hermione told him, trying to get him to see reason. "It's just...you've been dating for some time now, Harry...anyone else would have popped the question. I mean, even _Ron_ tried to ask me to marry him _three years ago_ , and you two were official long before him and I were…"

Harry shot her a dirty look. "Ron popped the question too soon, and look what happened between you two."

"Ron and I weren't compatible, Harry."

Her friend gave a shrug. "If you say so." He glanced back to the door. "So...you and Zabini seem pretty chummy."

Hermione crossed her arms. "He's a cod. They're all cods."

"And Malfoy most of all," Harry piped up, raising a suspecting eyebrow. "So, you and Malfoy are, um, _chummy_?"

"Harry! He's getting married!"

"Oh, believe me. I know. Ginny is still climbing the walls over the way Astoria Greengrass invited us."

"I'm not chummy with any of them," she waved her hand dismissively, feeling the pang of a lie. It wasn't entirely true, was it? She and Malfoy seemed to have a fond rapport as of late, at least when it came to dancing.

"So what's this about dangling a steak in front of someone?" He nudged her playfully with his elbow.

"His name is Greg," she replied, tucking a thick curl behind her ear. "He's the instructor's son."

"Ooh, a hot date, then?"

"I haven't said anything, yet."

"Ah. Thus the dangling." Harry nodded. "To be honest, Hermione, you're pretty good at that."

"What?" she gasped. "I'm not some slab of meat."

"Maybe that's a bad analogy." He thought about it. "It's like… the men are hanging on the strings, and you're the puppeteer."

"Right, but there's one thing wrong with that theory, Mister Potter. Men aren't dangling by strings for my attention." She was sure her cheeks were the color of rose petals the way Bernard was smiling behind the counter, listening in on their conversation.

"Let's think about it." He started counting on his fingers, "Ron. This Greg fellow. _Charlie..._ "

Her voice dropped into a whisper as she squeaked, "How do you know about that?"

"Charlie's pretty happy about it. - Don't worry, Ron doesn't know, yet. I figured you were going to let him down when the time was right." When she didn't answer, he added, "You were going to tell him, right?"

"Why should I tell Ron what happens in my personal life, now?"

"Because he's still dangling by that string, Hermione."

"Well, I never asked him to. I made it perfectly clear I wasn't ready for that kind of commitment."

"Yes, which implies that, when you are, you'll be ready for him."

Hermione groaned. "Relationships are so complicated, aren't they? Love, hormones - books can only prepare you so much for the real world."

Harry wrapped a tender arm around Hermione's shoulder. "I've never known you to resist a challenge. And if it makes you feel any better, _I'm_ not pining over you."

"Pah!" she broke out into laughter. "As if you could handle me, oh-Chosen-One."

"You're right, because Ginny's _so tame,"_ he drawled sarcastically, turning his attention back to the shopkeeper. "I'd like to look at that one, please."

"An excellent choice, Mister Potter."

* * *

 **Stage Left: Hermione Granger and her books**  
**Setting: The public library**

* * *

"This isn't helping at all," Hermione groaned, pouring over several dance books she'd piled on the desk in front of her, hoping to get some peace and quiet from today's events replaying in her mind. She knew she should be excited about Harry _finally_ purchasing a ring for Ginny - and she was happy for him, _really_ she was - but his words repeated over and over in her head like a broken record, filling her with frustration and doubt.

For a brief moment, she debated telling Ron about taking Charlie to the Malfoy wedding. But then she caught herself, cursing under her breath and turning a page so harshly she heard the slight _rip_ of its tear. Horrified, she glanced up at the librarian only ten feet away, as if she might have heard the rip, too. Luckily, the elderly woman was busy reading some tasteless romance novel, tentatively titled _Bond,_ and took no notice of Hermione's cruel disservice to the book in front of her. Quickly, she whispered a repairing charm under her breath and watched the page return to its beautiful state once again.

She shouldn't _have_ to explain herself to Ron, she thought. They had been over for quite some time now, and she never led him to believe that they were _absolutely_ getting back together. But...maybe Harry was right about one thing. She hadn't shut that door completely. If Ron still held any sort of a candle for her, she knew it was her fault for not extinguishing the flame. Well, she'd done it with Viktor, hadn't she? They'd parted ways and remained amicable through the years. Why couldn't she have that with Ron?

And then there was Greg Diggle and her current predicament with possibly leading him on as well. Hermione was a person of thought, not a person of impulse, though sometimes she was impulsive with her thoughts, which contradicted most of what she believed about herself. If she'd thought about it, she would have realized not giving an answer to Greg was selfish and unnerving. But she didn't _know_ if she wanted to, and shutting him down without considering all of the variables sounded more rude than taking the week to consider it.

Well, no more. The time for decisions was upon her!

So...what was she to do?

Sighing, she rested her forehead against the open book in front of her and closed her eyes, attempting to concentrate. Fat lot of good that did, because all she could see when she closed them was Malfoy from last night's dream: bound to a chair and begging for his mistress to please him. _Hermione_ had been that mistress, which shocked the Hell out of her because never a day in her life had she considered herself a 'Dom' in the bedroom. Oh, and to top it all off, she could put two and two together on the metaphor; being a 'mistress' by seeing Malfoy without Astoria - mind you, it was all platonic and involved the Red Hat Society, but she couldn't help feeling guilty. That guilt sloughed down her skin and revealed another bottled-up emotion: desire.

All of these dreams were getting wildly out of control, and she danced a line between looking forward to bedtime and considering drinking an entire pot of coffee to keep herself awake. She'd taken to biting her nails out of anxiety, which she knew her parents would be _very_ disappointed about if they found out; _bad on the teeth_ , they would have said.

She pinched her legs shut, feeling the warmth that pooled between them. Her skin was lit on fire, blazing at the thought of slate eyes and white-blond hair. And it wasn't just his looks that kept banging themselves against her subconscious; his infectious laugh and _actual_ smile had sent her nerve endings into a frenzy that night with the Red Hat Society. She'd gone home, thrown down her beaded bag, and stared at herself in the mirror for twenty minutes, noting the blush across her cheeks and the cheesy grin on her face. Something about him had sparked something inside of her. True, he had been a bit snarky, but he was kind to the elderly ladies and showed great interest in their advice. He had been an entirely different man that evening; someone Hermione grew very fond of.

And she knew it was _wrong._

She wasn't someone who pined over a taken man, and she _certainly_ wasn't someone to pine over a taken man who had, inadvertently, _invited her to his wedding._ They'd even talked about the special occasion with the mention of Theodore Nott, for Morgana's sake! So why did every fiber of Hermione's being wish to be under his touch, against his flesh, hoping he'd cup her cheek, or flash her another devilish wink, or _say her given name again?_ It sounded so charismatic falling from his lips. Though she'd never heard him take the time to speak it before, he obviously knew how to pronounce it. Not even Ron could have said the same. It took him two days, and a fit of correcting, for him to understand the inflections. Harry, to his credit, only mucked it up twice. But Malfoy _knew her name_. Not just the basics, but the _tone_ in which it was spoken. Something about that sent shivers down her spine. If he could spell it correctly, she might have an orgasm on the spot.

 _Wait. What?_ She giggled at her own stupidity.

"Shhhhh!" called the librarian, shooting Hermione a scathing look over her glasses.

'Sorry,' Hermione mouthed, stifling her fit of laughter into her hand. The librarian rolled her eyes and continued on with her reading.

Oh, but what a thought that was! What was Malfoy doing to her?

 _He's turning you on, you slag._ I am not a slag! _Oh, just face it. You're a slag when it comes to Malfoy._

She felt crazy as she burst into laughter again, nervously fidgeting her book closed.

"SHHHH."

"...Sorry." She began stacking her books and shook out her shoulders, determined to keep her composure.

That's it. Her mind was made up. She would take Diggle up on his date, Hell or high water, and, hopefully, rid herself of these atrocious thoughts of Malfoy once and for all. She just needed... _oh my goodness. Am I seriously considering having a one-night-stand with Greg?_ She'd never had one before...would it be as exciting as it sounded? _Bad, Hermione. BAD!_

She strolled up to the librarian and set her books on the counter. "I'd like to check these out, please." She glanced at the cover of the older lady's novel, thoroughly entranced by the male model on the front with his sleek looks and white-blonde hair. "And, um...do you happen to have another copy of that book you're reading?"

For once, the librarian's lips turned up in a grin. "You'll find the author in aisle M."

* * *

**Center Stage: Hermione and Greg...and a mysterious figure in the background.  
Setting: A dinner date. Oh, boy.**

* * *

"Wow, Hermione, you look...well, you look breathtaking," said Greg, standing from his seat at the table in the lively restaurant he'd booked on the fly for their date this evening. His eyes roamed over Hermione's too-tight, onyx colored dress and matching heels - _Every girl needs a little black dress in their closet!_ Ginny had sing-songed a year ago when they'd gone shopping together and forced Hermione to purchase the offending garment. It left no room for proper underwear, practically showed off her cleavage in immodest ways, and elongated the look of Hermione's legs significantly when paired with the heels.

She hadn't _wanted_ to wear the outfit, but none of her other clothes quite screamed 'shag-my-brains-out' like this one did. And she _desperately_ needed something to give her hand and vibrator a break.

Greg looked dapper in his tweed jacket and black slacks, kindly pulling the chair out for her. Hermione sort of threw herself into her chair, fearing that if she didn't take it all in one go, her dress might rip. She didn't want it off of her _just_ yet.

They ordered appetizers, two glasses of wine, and began conversing as normal. Hermione rather enjoyed the sleekness of Greg's jaw and the subtle stubble along his cheeks. He was a handsome man, for sure, and it made forgetting about Malfoy all that much easier as she leaned her elbow on the table, secretly almost spilling her drink as she did. She covered it up quickly with a quick grab of the glass stem, nodding enthusiastically at something Greg said - though what it was, she wasn't sure. She hadn't fully been paying attention.

"Is it warm in here?" she asked, extending her neck to show off the skin there; Greg's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he adjusted the collar of his shirt.

"Very," he admitted, taking a sip from his wine. "I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again. You look amazing in that dress."

"Thank you."

"And...did you do something with your hair?" He gestured to the tamer curls framing her face.

"I tried some relaxers...hardly anything works on my hair for very long, though."

"It suits you. Although, you're pretty no matter how your hair looks."

 _Would he say that if he saw me with my bird's nest of bedhead?_ she wondered.

They talked some more about trivial things until the main course arrived. Hermione took heed to ignore the broccoli on her plate, as it gave her bad gas, and chewed thoughtfully on her steak, stealing little smiles here and there. She hoped she was doing this flirting thing right. Ginny always made it look so easy.

"So, tell me a little about what you do for a living," Greg requested, taking a bite of his well-done steak. Hermione couldn't believe any adult would order one well-done - did he not enjoy the flavors a medium steak could provide?

"You mean my work?"

"You know what _I_ do for a living," he winked, taking another sip of his wine. "I'd love to hear about your time - working for the Ministry, yes?"

A flash of something bright distracted Hermione as it walked across the room, heading toward the loo. A man with white-blond hair and a dastardly smirk on his face. _By Circe, he can't be here._ Oh, but he was. Draco Malfoy strutted with a slurred lean, no doubt drunk off his arse. It was obvious by the cadence in which most drunk people stumbled aimlessly. Draco just made it look better.

Before she became too distracted, she turned her attention back to Greg. "Well, for starters, I work in the Ministry's legal department. We're actually implementing a new program for muggleborn children and their parents to help make it easier for them to adapt to the muggle world. It's a cooperation between the school, the Ministry, and Her Majesty's Government."

"That sounds...interesting," Greg tried to humor her.

"Oh, it really is. As a muggleborn myself, I find it imperative how overdone the houses in Hogwarts generally are. It's unfair to have children selected by a demented, magical hat."

"The sorting ceremony?" Greg asked.

"Yes, the blasted sorting ceremony."

"I don't understand. What's wrong with it?"

"Well, it adheres to an old belief system created by the Founders who lived in a dislocated generation from what is the norm nowadays. For instance, Salazar Slytherin believed muggleborns to be a beneath other wizards, and so the sorting hat doesn't general place them in Slytherin, _even though_ I've seen my fair share of children who probably should have been."

"Yes, but that's been tradition for centuries. You want to uproot all of that?"

Hermione sighed, her patience getting the better of her. Despite her beautiful dress and overly-done hair, she couldn't hold back who she was on the inside. "Imagine a muggleborn in Slytherin. Wouldn't that be amazing?"

"Not if they weren't meant to be there."

"Oh, for the love of - there would be _exams_ given to test a child's aptitude and learning curve."

"But could it test what was in their hearts?" Greg asked.

Hermione pursed her lips. "As a matter of fact, I do believe so."

"Let me ask it to you like this: do you feel like you were sorted into the wrong house?"

"No, of course not," Hermione shook her head. "Though I did wonder, at times, if perhaps I would have done just as well in Ravenclaw. They say the hat takes your preferences into account, but I find that highly suspect."

"And yet, here you are. You even saved the world by Harry Potter's side," Greg chided teasingly, which only made Hermione more frustrated. He _wasn't getting her point._ Wasn't even _considering_ it. "I truly don't see what the problem is."

"Friendships, relationships, they're all built from these houses. But because the hat's decision is _final_ , some wizards and witches think they're magically destined to be better than others due to the house they're sorted into. For example, take Gryffindor and Slytherin. I was teased most of my life for being a muggleborn; they told my blood was dirty for it. Slytherins often thought they were better because _the hat chose to put them there,_ as if divine intervention was at play. Science, and a good understanding of the human mind, could put all of those misinterpretations to rest. It could put a stop toward the prejudices once and for all."

Greg blinked, taking in her words. It was clear he still wasn't convinced, and Hermione wasn't quite sure he kept up with her explanation. But he tried his hand, nonetheless. "I mean, I know you and Draco Malfoy don't get on in dance class, but I always thought it was childish animosity? He was a Slytherin, correct?"

"Practically reeks of it," Hermione sighed.

"So that tension between you isn't just school bullying?"

"Where _were you_ between nineteen-eighty-one and nineteen-ninety-eight?"

"Spain. Grew up there."

"Well, I'll have you know, it was more than just 'school bullying.' We fought on different sides of the War. Mind you, I understand he was caught between a rock and a hard place...but he grew up believing I was inferior. That damned sorting hat didn't help anything. It didn't prove my worth, only looked into my head a bit and rummaged around for what it thought I would be like. But, I mean, I _do_ understand Malfoy isn't like that, anymore. He's changed more than just his tune these last few years...he's written an entirely new symphony."

Greg nodded. "Oh, _now_ I understand."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. "Do you?"

"You, Gryffindor, on the light side of the war, and Malfoy, Slytherin, on the dark side -come to the dark side, we have cookies," he smirked, reveling in his Star Wars joke. "Anyway, you've had serious problems in the past that were caused by things that neither of you had any control over." He leaned forward. "But, let me ask you this. The war is over, isn't it?"

"Yes…" Hermione felt her cheeks go red.

"So, do you ever stop to think how his slightness toward you might have nothing to do with your past? Perhaps you need a male perspective on things."

"Pardon?"

"Maybe he has some childhood crush on you?"

"He's getting married," Hermione pointed out, frustrated she would have to tell someone this again so soon.

"Or perhaps it's something from your past? Have you two ever been…physical? I mean, the tension between you both is so thick sometimes I could slice it with a knife. Sexual energy is only heightened by the Tango, and if he has any residual desires toward you, he might be taking his frustrations out on you because of it. So...have you? Been physical, I mean?"

Hermione's mouth fell open at the same time that a casual, snarky voice from behind her said, "Oh, yes. Hermione used to be _very_ physical with me. Especially when it came to striking me in the face."

Two firm hands came and rested on her shoulders, and she could practically feel Malfoy's smirk from behind her.

Greg raised an eyebrow as if to say, 'You're kinky like that, Hermione?'

Hermione whipped around in horror as Malfoy shot her a wink. "Sorry to intrude. But _Potter's been looking for you._ " He said his words slowly and deliberately, hinting to Hermione to take the bait. "Something about your mangy feline escaping your house when he tried to visit you."

Hermione gave him a knowing nod. _He's trying to help me bail on this date. But why? Is it that obvious it isn't going well?_ "Oh, no!" she exclaimed, feigning distress. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Greg. Crookshanks isn't an outdoor cat. You understand, don't you?"

Greg gave a nod, eyebrows furrowing together. "Would you like me to assist you?"

"Search party's already out," Malfoy said at once, helping Hermione out of her chair with a graceful tug of the arm. She was thankful for it, because her dress would have made her tumble to the floor if he hadn't. "We'll let you know how the night progresses. Come along now, Granger. I'm sure Diggle doesn't mind picking up the tab. Potter's just outside..."

And with that, Malfoy curled an arm around Hermione and walked her outside, snorting into his hand as the door shut behind him.

"Malfoy, I didn't need any help back there!" Hermione reprimanded him at once, smacking him on the arm. Even if he was nearly three sheets to the wind, he still had enough balance to keep from falling over.

"Then why did you go along with it?" he asked, amusement across his sharp features.

"Because - it would have looked insensitive, wouldn't it, if I hadn't wanted to find my cat!?" She punched him in the arm this time, enough to make him wince. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I've seen that look on your face before, Granger," Malfoy smirked, leaning against the brick wall next to them. "That's the same look you gave me right before you were _physically intimate_ with me our third year and socked me in the nose."

"I...I wasn't about to…" But even as she said it, she gave his arm another jab. "You're a git, you know?"

He shrugged. "Serves you right. It's obvious you aren't into the sod. Although," he trailed his eyes over Hermione's attire, "you _did_ dress for a _physical_ night. That desperate for a shag?"

"Oh, you," Hermione waved him off like she was shooing Crookshanks off of the kitchen counter. "You're worse than a stray dog."

"In what sense?" he asked.

"I...I'm not sure, actually," she gave a laugh, thinking it over. "Perhaps ferret would have been the better analogy?"

Malfoy's eyebrows furrowed. "Don't push your luck, Granger. I'm your Knight in Shining," _hiccup,_ "Honor, aren't I? Saved you from the worst bloody mistake of your life."

"Excuse me?"

"You were gonna have a randy night with that bloke, weren't you?" His tone suddenly became serious.

"It's none of your business who I decide to become intimate with."

"True." He held up one finger. "But you would have regretted it in the morning. I know that much about you." He poked the tip of his finger to her nose. "So, I propose something else. How's about you transfigure those…" he licked his lips. "-tight clothes into something more comfortable, and we'll get sloshed instead."

"You seem to already be there," she pointed out.

"You can be my designated Apparater, then."

"That's actually a terrible idea. You could get splinched, or-"

"Granger. Yes or no?"

She glanced back at the restaurant, then back to Malfoy. She knew it might be a bad idea, but something in her gut told her to go for it. "Yes," she nodded. "Definitely a yes."

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter promises to be quite entertaining!**  
**Please leave your thoughts?**  
**~A.**


	14. Dessert

 

****

**So, of course, this chapter wouldn't be possible without two special ladies: LondonsLegend and LightofEvolution. LondonsLegend has broadened my vocabulary and beta'd this chapter to perfection. LightofEvolution gave me the best little zinger for Malfoy to use in this, and she's listened to me ramble about my ideas. Without them, this chapter would lack. So thank you so, SO MUCH!**

**Thank you for all of the love and reviews. For those waiting on HTTYA3, it's coming. I just have a competition and a fest to submit before I can pull my full attention back to a major project besides this one.**

**This chapter...it could be my favorite one yet. So much Dramione interaction. Lick it up while you can ;) This is "Dessert."**

**~A.**

* * *

**"Dessert is like a feel-good song, and the best ones make you dance."**   
**~Chef Edward Lee**

* * *

**Center Stage: (DRUNK!) Hermione and Draco**   
**Setting: Diagon Alley, after hours**

* * *

Hermione giggled into her ice cream sundae, thoroughly drunk off her arse inside Diagon Alley's premiere F _lorean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour_.

It started with shots at the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione insisted she didn't need to drink, but Malfoy threatened to tell the entire pub she was single if she didn't, and so she took down three shots of firewhiskey, chasing them with a butterbeer. Then, it became a challenge to see who could stomach the rich aromas of the Leaky's oldest bottle of scotch (paid for by Malfoy, of course). It became apparent to Hermione that she was _not_ the heaviest of drinkers, but rather a lightweight, when she had to lean on Malfoy's shoulder to keep her balance as they stumbled out onto the street and begged him for ice cream.

And here they were.

Malfoy sat across from her, staring down at his butterbeer flavored ice cream cone with satisfaction. In the last three hours, they'd managed to tuck away their quips and one-liners for hearty conversation and an avid love of liquor. And, if Hermione were being completely honest with herself, she would admit this was much better than getting laid by a man she had basically no chemistry with.

"It probably would have been an awkward shag, anyway…" she muttered, digging into her sundae and scooping up a bit of banana.

Malfoy paused, tongue still mid lick as he cleaned the dripping ice cream from his fingers, looking at her with a stunned expression. "Pardon?"

"Hmm?"

"What about an awkward shag?" His eyebrows quirked in amusement as he trailed that dangerous looking tongue up his ice cream to the top. Once it was securely back in his mouth, Hermione's brain began to function again, and she realized, in horror, she'd said her thoughts out loud.

"Nothing." She bit into her banana to avoid having to say anything else. Her head still swimming with alcohol, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the numbness in her face and the delicious taste of the fruit.

But Malfoy wouldn't let it go. "You really _were_ thinking about shagging him, weren't you?" He gave a few more good licks to his ice cream cone, the last one seemingly suggestive. "S'alright. We all go 'round the bend every now and again." With a shrug, he went back to tonguing his treat, making Hermione press her legs together dare he sense her sudden arousal.

 _Damn it, hormones. Not helping_.

"Why do you suggest I've 'gone 'round the bend?'"

"Because you and I both know Diggle isn't your type."

"Oh, what would you know about my 'type'? You hardly know me."

"I know _plenty._ " Malfoy pointed his ice cream at her. "Others see us better than we see ourselves, Granger. It's a fact." Even drunk, his articulation was impeccable.

"Care to enlighten me?" With another bite of her sundae devoured, Hermione kept the spoon in her mouth to keep from practically drooling at the way Malfoy lapped at the frozen delight in his hand. He paid her no mind for a moment, concentrating on his ice cream in a way that made him seem ravenous for it. She rested her chin in her hand as she propped her elbow up on the table, thinking to herself how simply marvelous a drunk Malfoy was. So uninhibited, uncaring to be proper. Squeezing her legs together even tighter, she cleared her throat and plucked the spoon from her mouth. "Malfoy?"

"Hmm?" He peered up at her.

"I asked if you'd care to enlighten me - on how others see me."

"You're intelligent enough to know that on your own," he mused, smirking and swiping his tongue over the waffle cone. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Biting your lip."

Hermione realized her teeth were, indeed, wrapped around her bottom lip. She immediately released it and stuck the spoon back in her mouth. "No 'eason."

Malfoy gave a shrug. "I think the question you should be asking is what do _you_ think of _yourself_."

Hermione sighed, spitting the spoon out and crossing her arms. "I have horrible taste in men. Or, rather, I can't seem to find one I get on with - one who _understands_ me. Do you get what I mean?"

He nodded noncommittally as he bit into his waffle cone, signalling for her to continue.

"I really thought this was it, you know? A good and proper gentleman with ruggedly handsome good looks who I could hop in bed with." Her cheeks burned bright, but the alcohol loosened her tongue, encouraging her. "But it seems like all I do is muck up the wrong sort of men. He couldn't keep up with me in a conversation at _all._ He was boring and didn't listen to my point of views _._ Oh, but he was a nice fellow... I don't understand it."

"Understand what?"

"Why all these men are smitten."

"All these men?" Malfoy smirked. "Someone's feeding her ego, isn't she?"

"Oh, hush it. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Ron. Charlie. _Greg._ I just don't understand why they all can't," _Hiccup,_ "See me for who I really am."

"And...who are you, really?"

Under her breath, Hermione whispered, "We both know I'm just a plain girl."

As if that sobered him up, Malfoy sat his nearly devoured ice cream cone down on the edge of her icecream sundae bowl and leaned forward, elbows hitting the table. "I wouldn't exactly call you plain..."

Their eyes met. "What would you call me?"

Malfoy mulled it over. "You have a symmetrical form...unique facial features." His eyes trailed over her face, studying it.. "Little button nose." He reached out and booped it with his finger. "Really, it's no surprise. And you've got a mind to match your drive. It isn't that you're attracting the wrong sort of men, is it? It's just that you aren't noticing the ones on your level." He touched his finger to her forehead. "See?"

"Thank you, Malfoy…" Hermione swatted his hand away playfully, rolling her eyes. "That was... kind of you. You're very sweet."

"I'm very drunk."

"Yes, I can see that." They both gave cheesy, mocking grins - it was only when Hermione glanced down that she noticed he was sliding her bowl toward him. "Hey!"

"You weren't eating it," he said defensively, jerking it into his clutches with one quick movement.

"Someone has a sweet tooth," she commented. "We can share."

"The Hell we can."

"Malfoy! It's my sundae!"

"Granger! It was my gift to you. I can take it back as I please." He plucked up a new spoon from the cup next to the condiments and scooped some whip cream off of the top before dipping it into his mouth.

"As your designated Appar...para...Apparat…"

"Apparator?"

"That! As your designated _that_ I demand you pay me in my sundae and stop trying to hoard it all for yourself."

"At this rate, neither of us are getting home...not that I'm complaining about not going home…" There was a sadness etched in his tone as he scooped up more whipped cream.

Hermione nodded, understanding. She hadn't wanted to pry earlier this evening, but this seemed like a prime opportunity to voice her curiosity. "I take it flowers didn't woo your sweetheart?"

"To Hell with wooing Astoria." Their eyes caught. A faint dust of pink scattered across his cheeks. "What I mean," he said, "is that...we aren't...I mean…we aren't speaking to each other at the moment."

"Oh." Hermione would be lying if she said her interest wasn't piqued, but a shred of humility left her feeling sad for him, despite the sudden joy that pinged her her heart. "When you say you aren't speaking…?"

"I mean we _literally_ aren't speaking to one another. Every time I enter the room, she leaves. Even Madame Mystique is beginning to notice."

"Your wedding coordinator?" When Draco threw her a curious glance, she added, "She's one of the most sought after coordinators in all of Europe. Stop giving me that look."

"Does _someone_ have their eye on a wedding coordinator for her _imaginary, non-existent_ wedding?"

To spite him, Hermione snatched his nearly devoured ice cream cone and swiped it across his nose, leaving a trail of drippy cream. "At least my _imaginary, non-existent_ fiancé is speaking to me in my dreams."

Malfoy rubbed the tip of his nose. "Lucky you." He scooped up a big dip of ice cream with his spoon, aimed it at her, and launched the treat; it landed with a _plop_ onto the side of her neck.

"Draco!" she gasped.

"Ooh, looky. Someone knows my name." He smirked, loading another scoop and bending the spoon back.

"Don't you dare."

"Should I aim for your eye? Or maybe your hair...might be an improvement."

"I'll have you know, it took me two hours to get my hair to look so relaxed." She began wiping her neck off with her fingers, realizing in her drunken stupor how improper it was. To safe face, she licked her fingers off and dabbed them with a napkin. Malfoy's eyes followed her hand until she was through, and only then did he comment again.

"You don't look like you when your hair's all...like _that_." He waved his hand at her hair as if it offended him. Perhaps it did.

"Greg said it looked lovely."

"Greg also has the stylish capacity of a homeless man. One with nice dress shoes."

"I'm confused. Are you trying to give me a compliment or insult me?"

Narrowing his eyes, Malfoy refused to answer. Instead, he produced his wand and levitated their unfinished treats into the bin. Hermione's stomach dropped. Damn, damn, double damn. Or would that be triple damn? Oh, she was too drunk to care.

"It's getting late," he said, reaching into his pockets to produce an antique timepiece. " _Really_ late. Or early, by some standards." He turned the face of the watch over to her; the time read just a quarter past two in the morning.

"Do parlors usually stay open so late?" Hermione gasped.

"They do if you pay them obscene amounts of money," Malfoy smirked. It was then she noticed the entire shop was void of customers, sans them. How had that gone over her head? Maybe because she was as boiled as an owl... "Come on, Granger. Pip, pip."

"Ginny says _pip, pip_. Just where are we _pip piping_?"

"One: don't ever say that again. Two: I have no bloody clue." He shimmied out of the booth and offered out his arm to her, in proper pureblood fashion. "Shall we?"

"But where-"

"Granger? Do us all a favor and shut your mouth." A cheeky grin spread across his face, eyes fixated on her lips for half a second. "I've been waiting to say that for years…"

* * *

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noticed the heavy yawn escaping from Granger's mouth as she walked beside him outside of the Leaky Cauldron on the muggle side of London. To his credit, Draco hadn't instantly scoffed at the idea when she suggested trying a pub off of Charing Cross Road. Honestly, the idea of seeing the inside of a muggle establishment fascinated him, though it felt perverted to think so. All his life, he'd been taught to hate the very existence of those non-magical, but the War had changed his perspective. Not that he went around fraternizing with muggles, but people like Granger had come from them, and so they couldn't be all bad, could they? Brightest witch of their age, indeed, besting him in classes and making him feel a fool. Still, if he hadn't been motivated to try harder, he might not have cared at all. Young Draco thought he had the world on a string, and that world revolved around his beck and call.

How wrong he was.

After another round of drinks, they stopped at the fountain in the center of the square, admiring its three tiered waterfall and large basin. Muggle whiskey tasted like shit, and it felt worse resting in Draco's stomach mixed with all of the concoctions brewing around inside. His head spinning, he suggested, "Maybe we take a breather here?" He motioned to the edge of the fountain.

"Mmh, sounds good to me." Granger plopped down without a second thought, giving another drawn out yawn. She was dressed in a pair of shorts and black blouse, all transfigured from her sultry evening dress, but this way, the clothing complimented her much better. Not that she hadn't looked good before - this just...said: _Granger._ Her hair had also become frizzier through the night, indicating that whatever she had put in her hair to relax it was losing its battle with her curls. As the evening progressed, she looked less like a sexually charged vixen and more like the tame kitten he knew her for. But, just like kittens, she had claws that he had to avoid, if he wasn't careful. Not that he wouldn't mind a few scratches down his back…

 _Shit. No. Stop it_.

"Soooo…" She patted the spot next to her, grinning up at him. "You taking a seat, or do I have to drag you into the fountain kicking and screaming?" Her face was completely red from the alcohol, accenting her freckles. She kept wetting her lips every few minutes or so with her tongue, making Draco's heart rate skyrocket. And she was doing it _now_.

"I'd goad you, but I think you actually would do it," he said, taking a seat next to her but trying his very best to keep a fair amount of distance between them. It only left room for her to place her hands on either side of her, fingers spread out and so close to his own. To rectify his urge to touch them, he reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, locking eyes with her instead. _Double shit._ "What?" he blurted out.

Granger simply smiled, giggling, "I'm thinking."

"Dangerous."

"I'm thinking about why you don't want to go home." Damn it, there was the lip licking again. Did she even know she was doing it? Or was it just out of habit? She wanted to know why all the men wanted their hands in her knickers? This. This right here. Granger tilted her head and leaned back, forgetting there wasn't a backing to support her. She slipped and nearly fell in if it hadn't been for Draco's Seeker-like reflexes, his hand instinctively reaching out and bracing her. Granger leaned her head on his shoulder, scooting to shorten the distance between them into mere inches. "Thanks."

"Mhmm…" He couldn't muster out much else. Not with her words swimming around in his head.

" _Why_ don't you want to go home?"

"What's the point?" He thought about shrugging her off, but she felt so warm and cozy against him. And, besides, they weren't doing anything wrong. They were just sitting at a fountain, for Merlin's sake. He'd done far more with Pansy back in Hogwarts when they weren't even dating. He supposed he could have a...friend...like Granger. Couldn't he? Was that allowed? He thought back to the friends he kept in touch with since beginning his dating adventures with Astoria. Come to think of it, he didn't have that many female friends...Daphne. Pansy, even though they'd fallen out of touch. Millicent, but Merlin knew she wasn't a looker like Granger. There wasn't ever a possibility of him accidentally fantasizing about Millicent Bulstrode…

"Don't you," another yawn, "want to talk to her?"

"Of course I do. But talking to Astoria this last week has been like talking to a muggle portrait. Besides, she's not the entire reason I don't want to go back to the Manor."

That got Granger's attention, because she glanced up at him through long eyelashes and asked a silent 'why' with her eyes.

"My mother's visiting," he admitted, prying his gaze back down to his hands to avoid staring too long at those tempting eyes of hers. "We don't get on right now."

"Because of Astoria?"

"Because of my father's company. He passed some time ago…"

"I remember," she said softly.

"I inherited the company," Draco continued, fearing that if he paused he might choke on the lump in his throat; he didn't like dwelling on his father's death. "But my mother has been running it in my absence. She thinks now that I'm to be married, it's time for me to settle down and take stock in the _patent industry._ " He physically shuddered at the thought.

"What's wrong with patents?"

"They're boring."

"They're what make businesses go-round."

"Yeah? You want it so bad, _you_ take it. It's yours. I'll sign over the company to you tonight and wash my hands clean of it."

With a giggle, Granger whispered, "Narcissa Malfoy would poison me on day one."

Smirking, Draco replied, "Probably." Granger snuggled in closer. "Are you cold or something?"

"A little," she admitted, eyes still closed. Draco peeled her off of him long enough to shimmy off his blazer and wrap it around her shoulders. "Thanks," she said, laying her cheek against his shoulder again. "Too drunk...to perform a heating charm…"

"Too drunk for a lot of things," he mused. "Like staying awake."

"I'm awake." Granger yawned, face sliding down his arm. Before he could dispute her actions, she'd curled up with her head in his lap. "Just resting...my eyes…so if you don't want to do patents what do you want to do with your life?"

Her cheek rested comfortably against his firm stomach, which only stimulated the blood flow down into the lower extremities of his body, including one certain appendage. Fucking hormones...why did they care so much what Granger smelled like (apples and vanilla) or looked like (a sleeping goddess) or how close her face was to his prized package (no room to adjust)?

"My mother asked me the same question," he muttered, focusing on anything else: The Red Hat Society, banshees, moldy bread - anything but how close Granger's lips were to his crotch.

"Mmm…" The vibration of her voice sent heat jolting into his groin. "What did you tell her?"

"I said I didn't know _what_ I wanted to do." By the gods, he hoped she didn't move around any more. She'd instantly know his lower-half's opinion of her in a heartbeat: _his_ , the one pulsing through his cock.

"Well, what are you interested in?"

That caused him to pause. "I...I don't think anyone's ever asked me that before." He thought about it, thankful he had something to keep him distracted. "I enjoy theoretical alchemy...and potions."

Granger stretched like a cat and burrowed her face into his stomach, muttering, "You did have a talent for it…What would you make?" Her curls spilled all over her face, making it impossible to see. Without thinking, Draco reached down and began brushing them out of her eyes, noting how soft she was from her skin to her hair to the gentle way she breathed.

Draco thought some more. "I was working on this...this mood enhancer. I tried to balance out a Euphoria elixir by toning it down with Draught of Peace."

He knew it wouldn't take Granger long to put two and two together.

"An antidepressant."

"Something to calm my nerves after the War," he spoke quietly, still brushing invisible strands out of her face. Okay, maybe he was just stroking her cheek. He did the same thing to Blaise's cat. It didn't mean anything.

"I think Harry and I could have used something like that," she said, her eyes prying open just a smidgen to glance up at him. "You said 'was.' Why did you stop?"

"Astoria..my time got eaten up with this blasted wedding." He gave an anxious sigh. "And I thought I was doing better...but here I am, getting piss drunk just like when the War finally ended."

Granger, to her credit, reached up and felt around for his face, missing it by a few inches and instead patting him on the shoulder as she shut her eyes again. "If you decide it's what you want to do, I know a man in research and development at the Ministry." She grumbled, sliding her hand down, grabbing his, and forcing it into the petting motions across her cheek like before. "Don't stop. Feels nice…"

With a roll of his eyes, Draco obliged. It didn't take long until he felt her relax completely and fall into an intoxicated sleep. Yawning, he still let his thumb glide across her cheek as he considered her offer.

At one time, he _had_ thought about going into Potions as a career, but then his father died, and everything changed overnight. As he worked his lower lip between his teeth, he mulled over various theories he had regarding the potions he'd been working on. It was only when Granger, after some time, mumbled something in her sleep that he was pulled from his thoughts. He glanced down quick enough to read her lips and hear her mutter, a second time, "Mm, Draco...like that...Jesus…"

 _Draco?_ Had she said _his_ name in her sleep? No...he must have heard wrong…

"Bite me," Granger whispered, wriggling in his lap while reaching over and fisting the bottom of his shirt. "More, Draco…"

No, that was definitely 'Draco.'

Bite her? Just what was she...was she _fantasizing_ about him?

A wicked idea crossed his mind, and, in his drunken state, he didn't try to talk himself out of it. He reached down, fished his wand out of his blazer pocket (careful not to wake the fantasizing beauty) and whispered as he pointed the tip against her forehead, " _Legilimens._ "

* * *

_He stood in an ice cream parlor much like the one they visited this evening. On top of one of the booths, Granger was sprawled out wearing nothing but a pair of lace panties and a smile as a dream version of himself, sans shirt, licked whip cream off of her neck._

" _Mm, bite me," she muttered, arching her exposed chest up to entice him. The real Draco took in the sight of her breasts, pert nipples begging to be caught between his teeth. Merlin, who knew Granger would have such a nice rack? He had to stop himself from taking a step forward inside her mind. No...he didn't want to make himself known._

" _Like this?" the dream version of him asked, clamping down on her shoulder with passionate intent. Draco noticed how husky and masculine his voice sounded in the fantasy. Heh. Well, at least he was sexy anywhere he was._

" _More," she pleaded, digging her fingers into his hair and arching her spine. The dream Draco chuckled, slipping hungry kisses down her throat before trailing his way to the valley between her breasts to tease her. His nose brushed against one nipple, and then the other, drawing the moment out. "Draco…"_

" _Ooh, look. You know my name," he teased, dipping his head forward and capturing one of her breasts in his mouth._

_The real Draco swallowed hard, trying to pry his mind away. But he couldn't. The word 'diet' slammed against his subconscious over and over, but he ignored it._

_As dream Draco kneaded and sucked on dream Hermione's breasts, the table was beginning to magically fill with plates of desserts around them. There was even a can of whipped cream, to which the fantasy version of himself applied a generous_ _line of to Hermione's stomach and began feasting all the way down to the top of her panties._

" _I've been so good, Hermione," he heard himself say while dream Draco brushed his nose against her covered clit. "I deserve a treat, don't I?" He set the can down and hooked his thumbs underneath the sides of her underwear, tugging them down over her hips. Hermione lifted her bum up, making it easier to pull the garment slowly down her legs and toss them behind to the floor. There, dream Draco stared down at his prize as the real Draco licked his lips, a bead of sweat dripping down his brow._

" _Eat as much as you want," she whispered, spreading her legs wide and guiding his face between them again._

" _If you insist," he smirked before diving in. From the angle the real Draco stood, he couldn't get a good look at her quim before dream Draco began licking it into submission. It was odd watching himself, but arousing, nonetheless. He watched the look of euphoria on Hermione's face as she leaned back against the tabletop and panted, gripping fistfuls of dream Draco's hair while moaning._

" _Fuck, Draco...gods, yes. Eat me...lick me…"_

" _Mmm, my favorite snack," he whispered between flicks of his tongue._

* * *

Draco Malfoy pulled himself out of Hermione Granger's mind, mouth salivating and a craving between his legs he couldn't help.

"More…" Granger moaned quietly, still fisting his shirt.

Draco sighed, tucking his wand back inside his blazer draped over Hermione, careful not to wake her up. Then he began stroking down her cheek again, noticing the way her lips curled up in satisfaction.

So...Granger harbored a crush on him. The young, immature version of himself would have logged this bit of information away to tease and taunt her about later. But the older, mature Draco, with his throbbing erection and conflicting emotions toward the brunette in his lap, wanted nothing more than to slip into that dream again.

Damn it. He was going to have some major blue balls in the morning.

* * *

**Things are heating up between our pair? How the Hell can they endure this kind of torture? XD**   
**~A.**


	15. Triangle

 

****

***Bows* Thank you for the reviews. They make my heart sing.  
Beta love goes, of course, to LondonsLegend and LightofEvolution. These two ladies are not only my betas, but my friends, and I'm so happy to have them.**

**~A.**

* * *

**"If you love two people at the same time**   
**Choose the second.**   
**Because if you really loved the first one**   
**You wouldn't have fallen for the second."**

**~Johnny Depp**

* * *

**Stage Right: A VERY hungover Draco Malfoy**   
**Setting: Malfoy Manor**

* * *

The moment Draco walked through the floo the next morning, he found his mother sitting in an armchair, waiting for him. In her hands was a rolled up copy of the Daily Prophet, obviously read and re-curled.

"Where have you been?" she asked, crisp and divisive.

He attempted a shrug. "Out."

"Out _where_?"

Draco couldn't help but feel like this was summer between Hogwarts all over again, when he and Blaise would steal his father's broomsticks from the shed to have a go around the gardens. "With mates."

Out of nowhere, his mother slammed the newspaper down on the coffee table. "Just what sort of 'mates' are you trying to attract these days, dear?" A stealthy, knowing look crossed her features before Draco's eyes trailed down to the paper. It was a picture of him and Granger at the fountain, her head cradled precariously in his lap. Shit. Had there been a photographer following them? He thought he'd been careful but, then again, he _was_ hammered last night.

"That isn't what it looks like," he began.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Well, of course it isn't. If I thought it was, we'd be having an entirely different sort of conversation: one with Astoria so I could support her in hexing you. As it stands…I trust my son enough to know there is an explanation."

Cautiously, Draco began, "Granger and I were just having fun. Friends. That's it."

His mother trailed her eyes down to the paper, particularly transfixed on the way drunken picture-Draco stroked his thumb across Hermione's cheek. "Friendly is a word for it."

"I didn't cheat-"

"Well, of course you didn't, dear. The question isn't if you remained loyal; Malfoy men are notoriously faithful to the women they're with. The question remains how we assess damage control for your less-than-intelligent behavior." She folded her hands in her lap politely and pursed her lips. "Are you and Astoria still playing this childish silent treatment with each other?"

"I think she forgot it was supposed to be a phase," he grumbled, slumping into the armchair across from her. "Why aren't you furious?"

"Because I know you well enough to know that you'll brood enough for the both of us."

"Hmph." Draco picked up the paper and read over the tabloid, quiet for a time. He kept coming back to Hermione's face, so serene and trusting, resting against him in the photo. He remembered how warm her skin had been under his touch, and how he'd wanted nothing more than to rest there with her at the fountain. However, he'd managed to stir her awake long enough to guide her into the Leaky and order them two rooms to crash in. He remembered sitting on the edge of his bed, knowing she rested just on the other side of the thin wall. It had been bloody hard to fall asleep, even as drunk as he'd been. "Shit...I wonder if she's seen this yet." He could only imagine how Hermione was taking the news of being some eye candy on his arm...lap...whatever.

"No doubt Astoria's probably climbing the walls as we speak, wondering how best to poison you."

 _Oh right. Astoria._ How many times could he think the word damn before it actually damned him?

"I'm thinking pearls," his mother continued.

"So she can strangle me with them?" Draco snorted. "No, thank you. I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"How lucky you are to have a mother who is already prepared for such events." Narcissa bent down and revealed something from behind her skirt: a powder pink gift box wrapped in a silver bow. "For Astoria."

"So, she won't strangle me in pearls. She'll shove the box down my throat." He rubbed the sides of his cheeks and sighed. How did an evening out drinking _alone_ turn into such a debacle? "There's more, isn't there?" he asked, reading his mother's expression.

"My observant son." She flipped the paper over and pointed to the continuing story. "You were seen entering the Leaky Cauldron and _renting a room._ "

Draco's mouth gaped in horror. "Rooms. _Plural._ " When Narcissa raised her delicate eyebrow, he snapped, "What should I have done, Mother? Take her to the Manor? We were far too gone to Apparate. You didn't raise me to leave an inebriated woman alone in the streets."

Narcissa seemed to relax at this, considering his explanation. "I didn't raise you to get drunk with a lady that isn't your betrothed in the first place."

He scowled. "I didn't _plan_ to; it just happened. Granger was having a rough night," albeit, it was because he interrupted her plan for a shag, "and we happened to be at the same place." It wasn't a complete lie; they _were_ at the same place when he caught her on her date. Getting toasted in all of the bars to follow...well, that was because he'd invited her along. "And she was having trouble with a bloke." Again, Granger wasn't having trouble with Greg's advances by any means. If anything, he _might_ have been the offending bloke in the first place. "Really, I was a hero." -To sabotaging Granger's unideal lay.

"Well, I hope a hero would remember to bring protection the next time something _just happens._ "

"Mother!"

A smirk fell across Narcissa's lips. "Kidding, dear." She leaned back against her chair, pausing. Even in a casual position, she was still all business. "So, I think the best thing to do is face the press head-on. Invite Miss Granger out in the open."

"You want us to be seen together?"

"Along with Astoria," his mother nodded. "Show the masses there is no tension between you and Astoria. That this...friendship...isn't a threat to your wedding. A sibling kind of relationship, formed after the War." The gears in her head quickly turned. "If we get ahead of this, we might be able to salvage your marriage yet."

Draco mulled over her suggestion, thinking of how brilliant his mother really was. Cunning and ever a Slytherin, she almost lived for these kinds of catastrophes. Her idea was foolproof, but it was also a lie. He saw what was in Granger's thoughts last night; brotherly wasn't the way she saw him at all. And with the raunchy dreams he'd been having of her, too...if they were to be like siblings, the situation screamed incest. Guilt welled in his chest. This wasn't the kind of husband he planned to be. Whatever was going on between him and Hermione, he needed to figure it out. Soon.

"Astoria will never go for it," he said flatly. _Hermione will. No doubt, her eyes are probably as big as her hair right about now. She wouldn't want to be seen like this in the presses._

"You leave that to me, dear. But when Astoria comes to you, you are to...what was it your father liked to say? Lay on the _Malfoy charm_?"

"You always saw right through that," Draco pointed out.

Narcissa shrugged. "Perhaps. But I appreciated his efforts, nonetheless. Astoria will, too. Especially if you _mean it._ " There was a threatening knowing behind her voice, as if she suspected his doubts. "You can expect her here within the hour. I will talk her down, and you will apologize profusely."

"Great." Draco stood up, legs wobbly from dehydration. He picked up the box from the table and rubbed at his tired eyes. "I'll be in the potions lab until then."

"Why on earth are you going down there, sweetheart? It's a glorified basement?" Narcissa shuddered, no doubt thinking of the spiders that lurked in the used-to-be-dungeons.

"Taking up a project," he smirked, recalling the conversation he had last night with Hermione. He felt inspired, suddenly, to get to something that could take his mind off of the turn of events.

Narcissa tilted her head, curious. "Alright. I'll send one of the elves down with a plate of food."

Draco only grunted in response, already on his way.

* * *

**Stage left: A sleeping Hermione Granger  
Setting: The Leaky Cauldron**

* * *

Hermione gave a long stretch, rubbing her tired eyes. A yawn escaped her lips as she rolled over, expecting to cuddle Crookshanks only to find the bed bare, instead. Odd. Crooks always loved snuggling with her in the mornings.

_Knock, knock._

Her eyes came open with a start, taking in the dreary, faded seventies floral wallpaper on the walls and dust on every surface. _This isn't home._ No, this was room in the Leaky Cauldron, wasn't it? Glancing down at her attire, she realized she was still in the same transfigured clothing from last night, though her shirt was bunched up around her stomach, and her bra uncomfortably prodded her with its underwire. How did she get here?

 _Knock, knock, knock!_ "S'cuse me," someone said from the other side of the door. "I'm looking for a," there was a pause, "Herm-in-ee? Granger?"

Hermione thought about correcting him for half a moment, but decided it wouldn't be worth the effort. No stranger ever got her name right. "J-Just a moment!" She fixed her shirt while struggling to remember how she got there. The last thing she remembered was…

Oh bollocks. Malfoy.

She crawled out of bed immediately, looking everywhere for her wand, only to find it resting atop the nightstand, next to a note that simply stated,

_**Don't flatter yourself. Nothing happened. ~ Draco.** _

Feeling much more relaxed, she padded to the door and pried it open. A teen, dressed in a makeshift conductor's uniform, held a brown take-out bag. "Delivery order for Miss Herm-in-ee Granger."

"...I didn't order anything," she blurted out, dazed.

"Oh, um, the bloke who ordered it said you'd say that." The teen offered out the bag labeled 'The Hog-Eat Express.' "But it's already been paid for, ma'am. I was just instructed to be here precisely at noon."

"You were?"

The boy dropped his cheery disposition to say, "Well, yeah. Do you think I'd want to come out this far on my own time? I got a really good tip out of it, so if you could just," he slipped the bag into her hand. "Thank _you._ " His grin appeared again. "We hope you have a pleasant experience aboard the Hog-Eat Express. Be sure to rate us nine and three quarter stars on the comment card in the bag."

After Hermione gave him a gentle nod of her head, she watched him stroll down the hallway, a skip in his step. She closed the door just as a whiff of food hit her nostrils. Suddenly, she was starving. She pulled out the cartons to find a bowl of beef soup, beans and mash, and a cup of pumpkin juice held in a stasis charm to keep from spilling.

The corners of her lips turned up. _How very thoughtful of him._ Him, of course, being Draco. Who else would it be?

She ate her food in comforting silence, occasionally glancing over to the note on the nightstand. She blushed when she thought about her naughty dreams of him and how she'd fallen asleep in his lap. Oh, goodness, how embarrassing it all was.

She was just about to put her empty cartons back in the bag when she found a small, white box with cheesecake inside at the bottom. Written in the same script as the note on her nightstand was another message along the side of the box.

" _ **They were all out of whipped cream.**_ "

* * *

**Downstage Left: Draco**   
**Setting: Draco's potions lab (aka, the old dungeons)**

* * *

Sprawled over his work desk, measuring variations of ingredients into vials, was Draco Malfoy. He'd hoped distracting himself with his new-found inspiration would take his mind off _her_ , but it had the opposite effect. No matter what did, her dreams pried into his subconscious, making him lick his lips or readjust himself in his slacks.

Fucking Granger...how had she managed to slip in so unassumingly? Her eyes, her drunken laugh, the way she licked ice cream off her fingertips, it was all too much for him. His steady hands carefully measured a tablespoon of crushed lacewing flies into a vial of dittany, but his mind couldn't shake the memory of her voice, clear as day, whispering his name in her sleep.

He was just about to pull open his journal notes when the door at the top of the stairs swung open, gifting the room with an abundance of light. _Clack, clack, clack_ went Astoria's heels as she descended, her eyes puffy from crying.

Draco immediately stopped his potions tasks, standing up to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. "Astoria…"

She pursed her lips together, reminding him of his mother. "I promised Narcissa I wouldn't hex you. That woman seems to know me inside and out." She laughed bitterly. "How could you?"

"How could I _what_?" he asked, instantly becoming defensive. He knew it looked so much worse than it was, but that his thoughts were even worse than the assumptions. "Nothing happened."

" _Nothing?_ Draco, you were caught piss drunk out in public with Hermione Granger! What did you think? You wouldn't get caught? That no one would notice two conspicuous celebrities all over each other in the middle of Diagon Alley?"

"We weren't all over each other. Merlin's beard, Astoria! We were just drinking."

"And the room at the Leaky Cauldron?"

Room _sssssss._ " He drew out the S like a snake preparing to strike. "Plural! Honestly, doesn't anyone believe I'd be faithful?"

"It looks bad, Draco."

"It sounds as if you want me to tell you I've gone to bed with her."

"Did you?" Astoria crossed her arms, accusing.

Draco was livid. " _You're_ the one who wanted us to get along, Astoria! From the beginning of dance class, all you wanted to do was be friends with her. Well, I was just following your advice! No, I didn't _bloody_ go to bed with her!" He hadn't realized his voice had gotten as loud as it did until he felt the strain in his throat.

"So I'm to believe this was some kind gesture on your part?"

"It's good to be seen in a friendship with Hermio- _Granger_ , because that shows how far this family has come." It was a lie. He knew, deep down, he didn't give a flying hippogriff what anyone thought.

"And now you care what everyone thinks?"

" _You're_ going to lecture me on the subject of vanity, Astoria?"

There was a moment of silence between them where they both stared at each other, realizing they might have taken this argument too far.

Astoria sighed. "You know I love you, right?"

Draco's cheeks burned hot. "I do - I...nothing happened, Tori. I assure you...You know I can be a piece of shit sometimes, right?" He was aware he didn't say 'I love you' back; saying it felt wrong, somehow. And that bothered him more than even his blow up.

Astoria released another sigh, though this time it was much lighter. "All your life." Her lips twitched in a soft smile. Casting a glance over the vials and potions on the table, she asked, "Were you working on something?"

"Er, yeah." He nodded, excited to change the subject. "I've decided I wanted to give it a go in potions."

"Oh?" She blinked, stunned. "Um...give it a go?"

With a flippant shrug, he replied, "Everyone keeps asking me what I want to do with my life. I think I've figured it out."

Astoria's eyes lit up in delight. "Have you now?"

He ushered her to a second stool at the work bench and sat her down before taking a seat again. "I'm working on a potion that will help with depression. If it's successful, Granger says she knows someone in research at the Ministry. - Healing, Astoria. I think I'd be good at it."

An impressed twinkle in Astoria's eye glistened as she reached over and squeezed his hand. "That's wonderful, Draco. I won't pretend potions was my best subject, so I might not fully understand your process, but I'm very proud of you." She pointed to the box sitting on the edge of the workbench. "Dare I assume that's for me?"

Draco's eyes fell on the box in question, and he grinned. "Of course. Picked it out myself."

Astoria became excited at his declaration and untied the bow. As she opened the box, her eyes went wide. Draco couldn't see what was inside, so he held his head high, proud. "You picked this out yourself?" she asked.

Draco shifted in his seat. "That's what I said, wasn't it?"

Astoria giggled, reaching in and pulling out a box labeled, 'The Horny Hippogriff.' _What in the world…?_ Draco wondered until he saw the cylindrical, phallic shape printed on the side. Bright pink. 'Self cleaning.' 'Fifteen different vibration spells available.' _Oh, fuck._

"I have to say, Draco...this isn't quite what I expected," Astoria continued to snigger behind her hand. "But, um...it's a good place to start." Her gaze fell to his, lust filled and prowling. "Perhaps you'd like to help me take it for a test run?"

Draco swallowed hard, glancing up at the ceiling, imagining his mother with the most wicked smile plastered on her face. He tried to lean casually on the edge of the workbench as he turned back to Astoria and attempted casually, "I mean...if you're willing to give it a go." He was only human, after all, and thought, maybe, sex could fix the rift between them.

Astoria reached for his belt buckle. "These will need to go."

His sweaty palm slipped off the edge of the desk and he fell back out of his chair, flat on his arse.

* * *

**Downstage Right: Hermione and unexpected guest.  
** **Setting: Her home.**

* * *

Hermione arrived back home, now able to Apparate at will. She gave another long yawn, stepping through the front door to find -

"Ronald?"

There, half snoozing on her sofa, lay a disheveled and exhausted looking Ron Weasley. His bloodshot eyes popped open the moment he heard his name, and he automatically reached for his wand, perhaps an ingrained instinct from his days as an Auror. When he saw it was just her, however, his hand paused, and he sat up immediately.

"'Mione, there you are. I've been worried sick about you." He was off the sofa in a flash, concern etched in his features as he walked over to her and began eyeing every bit of her he could - though, for what, Hermione wasn't sure.

"What are you doing in my home, Ron?" she asked. "Is everything alright?"

"I should be asking _you_ that," he said, taking her shoulders to turn her this way and that. "You look alright."

"Yes, I know I look worse than usual, but I haven't had time for a hot shower."

"Nah, I imagine the Leaky's plumbing is bang outta order."

Hermione paused. "How do you know where I've been?"

"You mean you haven't seen it?"

"Seen what?"

"The Prophet, of course." Ron searched her eyes for something, but whatever it was, he didn't find it. "You really don't know, do you?"

"I would if you told me."

He dragged her over to the sofa, where a copy of the Daily Prophet draped over the armrest. The first thing she saw was the headline. ' _Is the Wedding Off? Malfoy Heir Found Canoodling With War Heroine.'_

"Canoodling?" she snapped, snatching the paper off the sofa. That's when she saw it: her face, resting in Draco's lap as he ran his thumb down her cheek. She vaguely remembered the feeling. "Oh, no."

"It says you two were seen out last night drinking, sharing late night desserts, and then stumbling into the Leaky Cauldron together to rent a room." Ron approached her slowly, as if she was a timid doe that might spook.

Hermione read the article quickly, her blood pressure rising with each sentence. "No, no, no. Oh, goodness." She fanned her face with the paper in her hand. "I...it didn't happen like this," she tried to assure him. "I'm not a homewrecker, Ron."

"I know you're not," he nodded, taking the paper from her as if it was a deadly weapon in her possession. She supposed, by the way she felt, it could be. "S'why I came here. I didn't want you to be alone thinking we'd all be judging you."

"Well, of _course_ you wouldn't, because you know it simply _isn't true._ Yes, we were a bit tossed, but that doesn't mean I went to bed with the man." She laughed, as if that cleared the whole business up. "Really, I should have expected this, shouldn't I?"

"Should you?"

"They act like I can't be around whoever I want." She crossed her arms, still inwardly horrified at the turn of events. She wasn't a harlot, but she could only imagine what Astoria thought of her.

"So you really _were_ out with Malfoy last night?"

Hermione's eyebrows pulled together. "Well, yes."

"I thought maybe it was some spelled photo with some other witch made to look like you…"

"No, that's me." She pointed to the offending paper. "But it didn't happen that way. My head was spinning. I went to have a lie down, and… my head ended up in his lap."

"Oh." Ron's face dropped. "Huh."

"Huh?"

"I just didn't know you and Malfoy were so close." He scratched the back of his head. "Guess that would explain why he stood up for you at the deli…"

"He what?"

"Nothing." Ron tried a faint smile, but it didn't convince her. "So, nothing went on between you two?"

"No, of course not. He's getting married."

"Is that the only reason?" Ron's eyes trailed to the headline picture. "You used to look at _me_ that way, you know." There was a hint of jealousy, but it was masked with sadness.

Hermione wasn't sure which was worse: Ron's disheartened face or the fact that she couldn't deny the look on her face captured in the photograph. It pained her in ways she didn't know she could feel, but she shoved those feelings deep down inside of her. She refused to pine over a man that wasn't - had never been - hers. One that is in love with someone else.

But she couldn't lead Ron on anymore, either.

"Maybe we should have a chat," she said, taking the newspaper and crumbling it up before tossing it over her shoulder. "I'll put the kettle on. We have a lot to talk about."

* * *

**Would love to hear your thoughts!**   
**~A.**


	16. Bottle It Up

 

****

**Hello and Welcome to another chapter of Tango! I'm sorry for the delay. I was holding off because I wanted everyone to get their updates, and fanfiction has been having difficulties...anyhoo, I'm here.**

**This chapter wouldn't have been possible without two special ladies: LondonsLegend for beta'ing, and LightofEvolution for bouncing ideas off and giving me Blaise's fashion expertise. ;) LondonsLegend and I get to see Fall Out Boy in October! Heck YEAH! If you're a hardcore fan, you know my penname comes from them.**

* * *

**LondonsLegend recommended a song that I think fits pretty darn well for Tango.  
Despacito by Luis Fonsi ft Daddy Yankee and Justin Bieber. Yes, I know. (gasp) the biebs. But give a shot, yes?**

**"Come and move that in my direction**

**So thankful for that, it's such a blessin', yeah**

**Turn every situation into heaven, yeah**

**Oh, you are**

**My sunrise on the darkest day**

**Got me feelin' some kind of way**

**Make me wanna savor every moment slowly, slowly**

**You fit me, tailor-made love, how you put it on**

**Got the only key, know how to turn it on**

**The way you nibble on my ear, the only words I wanna hear**

**Baby, take it slow so we can last long"**

_**-Despacito** _

* * *

**Down Stage Right: (continued)**   
**Hermione and Ron continue their chat. Tea and crumpets are untouched. Such a shame.**

* * *

Ron leaned back in his chair, thoroughly perplexed. The tea in his cup had barely made it to his lips before Hermione word-vomited her apologies, her explanations, and her laments. By the time she finished, no doubt Ron's tea was chilly, as was his disposition.

"So," he said, his voice low and quiet, eyes focused on the amber liquid in his cup, "you don't see this...working out…"

Hermione cringed, staring at the plate of untouched crumpets between them. "Not really, no…"

"Bloody Hell, Hermione." Ron sat his teacup down on the table with shaky fingers before rubbing his face with his hands. The disappointment in his tone was palpable, but he remained stoic, for the most part. "You could have told me from the beginning."

"...I know." She rubbed her hands together. Dear lord, why did this have to be so _difficult_? Her guilt felt like an iron-on patch still hot off the steam press. "Are you upset?" She knew it was the wrong thing to ask, because the tips of Ron's ears turned a violent red.

"Well, yeah. Of course I'm upset." Ron scratched at the red stubble on his cheek. "But um...I respect it." He gave a large, drawn out sigh, gathering his words. His eyes were distant. Pensive. "I know we haven't been close after our breakup. I guess I thought it was 'cause you didn't want us to fall into a routine and get used to being 'just friends' again."

"It isn't that I don't want that," she admitted. "I just know we want different things in life, and I didn't want to give you false hope by being around each other all of the time. In retrospect, I now see how ridiculous that really was."

Ron snorted indignantly. "You can say that again."

Hermione began picking at the cuticles of her thumb. "There's one more thing."

"You're dating Krum again?" he asked blatantly.

"What?" She gave a laugh. "No. Why would you think that?"

"He was in town, wasn't he?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Am I not allowed to have friends who happen to be male?"

"No...I mean, well, yeah, of course you can…" Ron dipped his head. "S'just weird that one of them happens to be _Malfoy_."

"Are we on that again?"

"Why wouldn't we be on that again?" Ron snapped, suddenly serious. "Merlin, Hermione. The whole wizarding world's gonna think you're cozying up to him. And if you're not dating Krum, and you're _single_ , well...it's not hard to see it that way when you've got your _head in Malfoy's lap._ Y'know, I can take you not wanting to be with me. I really think I can. But it's a thorn in my side to see you snuggled up to Draco _sodding_ Malfoy."

Another sigh escaped Hermione's lips as she placed her head in her hands. "I know," she whispered. "I know. I made a mistake." _I've begun to fall for him. Great Morgana, I'm losing all sensibility._ "But none of this is the thing that I wanted to talk about. I... _IinvitedCharlietoMalfoy'swedding."_

There was long pause. "...Huh?"

"I said," she cleared her throat, "that I invited Charlie to Malfoy's wedding." She waited. "As my plus one."

Now it wasn't just the tips of Ron's ears that were crimson - it was his entire face. "Charlie." He blinked. " _Charlie?_ Are you and Charlie even _close_?" The horrified sound in his voice was hard to miss.

"Well, we've always got on. And I thought-"

"-You thought you'd rub salt in the wound?"

Hermione felt her mouth fall wide open. "No! No, not at all, Ron!"

"'Cause that's what it feels like, 'Mione."

"It's a wedding plus one, Ronald. We're not running up to the Ministry and signing a marriage certificate!"

A long pause fell between them as they glared at one another.

"So, d'you have feelings for Charlie, then?" he asked curtly.

"I...I'm not sure."

"Or are you just gonna lead him on, too?"

"That isn't fair, Ron. I never meant to lead you on."

"But you _did,_ Hermione, whether you meant to or not." He swiped at the corner of his eyes. _Is he crying?_ Hermione froze in mild embarrassment. If she acknowledged it, he would surely snap at her further, and she wanted to avoid a fight. "For my brother's sake, I hope you figure out what the _bloody Hell_ it is you think you want out of life." Ron stood up and brushed down the front of his shirt.

"Ron-" She jumped up to meet him, blocking his path before he could retreat to the door.

"-I know, Hermione. I know. You're sorry." He inhaled deeply, managing to calm himself, and then he placed his hands on her shoulders, rubbing his thumbs along her skin absentmindedly. "S'just gonna take me some time to...wrap my head around it. I'm always gonna love you. Just...um…"

"You need time."

He nodded. "Yeah." His eyes were red and strained.

"I don't want us to stop being friends."

His eyebrows creased as his eyes searched hers. "Neither do I. Y'know sometimes my anger gets the better of me...I know you wouldn't hurt me or Charlie." He cleared his throat. "Are, um, you okay? This whole thing with Malfoy s'the reason I came over-"

"-I've got it under control," she lied. "I promise."

"You sure?"

"You're just going to have to trust me. I'm sure this entire mess will all blow over." She attempted a smile. "Now, um, can we just skip all of the I'm sorries and get straight to the part where we hug?"

With a lopsided, semi-serious grin, Ron nodded. "Yeah, Hermione. I'd like that."

* * *

**Down Stage Left (continued)**   
**Draco and Astoria finish some activities...but Draco isn't into it.**

* * *

Draco laid on the floor in a puddle of nerves next to a yawning Astoria. In his hands, the toy (secretly gifted from his Mother) vibrated. He shut it off as Astoria curled into his side and smiled against his shoulder. "Mister Malfoy, I had no idea you were so open to the idea of toys in the bedroom."

"Technically, this isn't a bedroom," he quipped, masking his lack of confidence. Somewhere in the mix between shucking off his pants and finding Astoria's lips around his favorite appendage, his mind had wandered to images of whipped cream and desserts. By the time it had come to the main course, so-to-speak, his appetite craved something - _someone_ \- else besides Astoria. With guilt welled in his chest, he'd pretended to care about only Astoria's pleasure to hide the fact his cock was only able to make it to half mast.

Really, it was by sheer luck that they toy was there to give him an excuse to push her over the edge without having to explain his new lack of attraction. Had his mother anticipated this from the get-go? Surely not. That would have been more than mildly disturbing…

"Your turn?" Astoria offered, trailing her fingers down his abdomen.

Draco couldn't put his finger on the reason for his flaccid cock. Astoria was a gorgeous witch. Great tits. Round, toned bum. A waist so trim it never needed a corset. And yet here he was, trying to pretend he didn't feel strange every time their lips touched. "I, er...have to meet Blaise at noon," he told her. It wasn't a lie - he really did. But it was nice to have an excuse.

Astoria pouted her lips. "Do you? Why?"

"Blaise asked for my personal opinion on some new line of clothing the Zabini's plan to showcase soon."

"Oh?" Her head perked up. "What is it?"

"No idea. But if he asked _me_ to be involved, it _must_ be important."

Astoria leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. Draco kissed back, but was relieved when she didn't go for tongue. Since when had his sexual appetite shriveled into nothing?

"I'll be sure to pay you back tonight, then. After dance lessons."

 _Dance lessons..._ "Sure…" he muttered, sitting up and shrugging his pants back on.

"...With all of this out in the open - the press and the headlines," Astoria added, fixing her skirt, "I had wondered…"

"Wondered?" he asked.

"Your private lessons with Miss Granger...will those continue?" There hung an anxiousness in the back of her throat as she asked the question.

 _Shit_. Draco hadn't thought of that.

* * *

**Center Stage: Draco and Blaise  
Setting: Zabini Fashion Industries, INC**

* * *

"Put these on."

"No."

"What? Why?"

"Why _would_ I?"

"I need a personal opinion on how they fit. I've asked some other models, but I don't trust that they weren't blowing smoke up my taught arse to get a gig."

"I'm _not_ putting them on."

"Why _not?"_

"They look...tight."

"That's the point, Draco."

Blaise waved a pair of elegant looking briefs in the blond's direction. Draco stepped back from the offending underwear and shook his head. "Nope. You couldn't pay me a lifetime supply of Honeydukes to get me into those."

Blaise smirked. "Fine. Let's talk about Granger, then."

Draco paused. "Give me the damn underwear." He snatched them out of Blaise's hand and headed for the dressing room nearby. As he slammed the door shut and began to shimmy out of his pants, he heard a _thunk_. No doubt, Blaise was leaned up against the other side of the door. Draco could just imagine him with his arms crossed and a his smug smile plastered across his face.

"So... Granger's head ended up in your lap. How _does_ that happen?"

"I told you I'd try on the undergarments, so you can stop talking about Hermio- _Granger._ "

"Ooh, Hermione, is it?" Blaise chuckled.

"Stop getting off on this." Draco threw his slacks purposefully over the door to smack Blaise in the face. A muffled 'oof!' was his reward. "I'm already in enough shit as it is with the presses, my mother, and Astoria."

"And Daphne," Blaise commented. "She's none too pleased with you for going off on your own with someone other than her sister."

"Maybe if Astoria hadn't given me the silent treatment, I wouldn't have felt the need to occupy my time."

"With Granger," his friend added.

"...With Granger." Draco slipped the underwear on and squinted in the mirror. "These are extremely too tight."

"I'll be the judge of that. Step on out here!"

"How do I know you don't have a camera waiting on the other side of that door?"

"Draco, you flatter yourself too much. Just shut up and get your arse out-"

The door swung open, causing Blaise to stumble to find balance. Draco's cheeks were fire-hot as he leaned against the doorframe and smirked. "Happy?"

Blaise considered Draco in the underwear for a moment. "Where do they feel tight?"

" _Everywhere._ "

"But in particular?"

With a smirk, Draco replied, "Where do you _think_?"

"Definitely your arse."

This was NOT what Draco expected to hear. "My _arse_?" He was flat insulted. "I have a spectacular arse, thank you very much!"

"Some would call it a _smart-_ arse," Blaise grinned.

"Cheeky." Draco knew he'd given it a double meaning, and both men tried to contain their toddler-like sense of humor. "And anyway, there's no room for if I were to _grow_."

"Thinking about Granger?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Why do you continuously bring her up?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's because you _rented out an entire ice cream parlor_ just to eat sundaes with her."

"I should never have told you any of the details."

"Mate, you know you're my... well, mate. So, listen to me when I say: I haven't seen you this confused since Granger punched you in the face our third year."

"I'm not confused," Draco grumbled, slamming the door shut again. As he slipped the underwear off, he added, "I love Astoria."

"Oh, no doubt about it."

He took a moment to slip his clothes back on and reached for the handle, pausing. "Have you and Daphne ever hit a...a dry spell?"

"Like, with sex?"

 _Not just sex._ "Everything."

Blaise seemed to ponder it, because it was some time before he spoke again. "Sure, I think we all get them."

"Does it change? When you get married?"

"Sex?"

"Why is everything about sex with you?" Draco growled. "Everything." He was glad he was on this side of the door so Blaise couldn't see the uneasiness on his face.

"Look, mate. I'm not going to pretend to know what's going on between you and Astoria, but what I can say is that getting married doesn't solve the issues that are already there. It's not a cure-all. So, don't look for it to be."

"I hate the way you know me."

"Would you rather I lie to you?"

"Maybe."

"Your arse did _not_ look big in those skivvies. - But real talk? It's obvious you and Astoria are having some issues. Daphne sees it. I see it. The _papers_ are starting to see it."

"The papers think I have something with Granger," Draco corrected. "I don't."

"And you're sure about that?"

"What the Hell is that supposed to mean? Astoria and I are perfect for each other."

 _We are,_ he thought. Astoria was the only one who had seen him at his lowest points after the war. She helped him when he was too broken to realize he needed fixing, like a watch forgotten about in a drawer.

"On paper, sure. You two are ideal," Blaise agreed. "Still, you can't deny the way Granger has some kind of hold on you."

Draco hated the way Blaise could see right through him and his vulnerabilities. It made him feel weak, and weakness was unbecoming of a Malfoy. But if anyone understood him, it was the snarky, off putting fellow on the other side of the door.

"She doesn't."

"Fine, she doesn't. - Let's say you have a hold on her, then. You see the way she looks at you, right?"

Blaise was right in one sense - Hermione never looked at him the way Astoria did. She never walked on eggshells to impress him. She was always ruffling up his feathers and calling him out on his bullshit. Only heartless imbeciles would kick a puppy when it was down, so that meant she must have seen him as something else. Something stronger. How strange…

But he couldn't admit any of what he noticed to Blaise. If he said the words out loud, it would solidify them. There was so much pressure riding on this wedding, but things felt _different_ now.

"Is this all you need from me?" he grumbled.

"Actually, I could use your opinion on a new line of shorts."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You can rot in Hell, Zabini. I don't _do_ shorts."

With a sigh, he pondered what to do with Granger.

Really, there was only one thing _to_ do. Though the idea had his stomach twisted in inconvenient ways.

* * *

**Small Spotlight off Stage Right: Hermione enters**   
**Setting: Dance Studio Uno**

* * *

Hermione's breath hitched as she walked into Dance Studio Uno. She'd taken it upon herself to arrive early, as per usual, but apparently, so had Greg. He was stretching when she arrived, and his eyes shrouded in a somewhat-friendly, but also colder, demeanor.

Really, one look and she could tell he'd read the news.

"Miss Granger," he nodded formally, tensing his posture ever so slightly. "You're early."

"So are you," she tried, nervously fidgeting with her bag.

"So it would seem…" There was a lengthy pause. "How's your cat?"

"Crookshanks? He's fine, why do you-" It then dawned on her about the lie Malfoy had come up with last night. The one about her cat escaping the house.

Greg's mouth drew in a thin line. "I take it Draco Malfoy located your _kitty_ just fine?" The double meaning wasn't missed.

Hermione's cheeks burned a brilliant shade of magenta as she started, "Greg, I can explain-"

"-No need," he shrugged, turning his back to her. "I think the papers said it all."

"Forgive me. For a moment, I thought you were an _intelligent_ individual who didn't listen to the fodder in the tabloids." Hermione pulled the strap of her bag up her shoulder and proceeded to pass Greg to the other side of the room. She caught his reflection in the mirror, and his expression softened.

"I...you're right, Hermione. Forgive me." He huffed a sigh and chewed at the skin of his lower lip, thinking of what to say.

"Obviously," Hermione muttered, setting her book bag to the floor, "what Malfoy told you was a lie. That much I can say. He was just trying to sabotage our date."

"It worked," Greg said, taking slow, lengthy strides until he stood behind her. Their gazes met in the mirror. "Was it really going that terrible you'd take his bait?"

Hermione turned around, meeting him eye-to-eye. "Admittedly, I was frustrated."

"Because of the sorting hat discussion?"

Hermione nodded.

With a lofty smirk, Greg leaned an arm against the mirror beside Hermione, halfway caging her in. He smelled of peppermints as he released a laugh and rolled his eyes. "It's called a debate, Miss Granger. I would have thought a woman such as yourself would recognize one."

"What?" She raised an eyebrow. "You were arguing with me on purpose?"

"I was trying to keep up," he nodded, a sincere smile on his face. "Apparently, trying to seem more intelligent than I really am has bored you to the point of leaving halfway through dinner."

"I'm sorry about that," she apologized.

Greg shrugged. "So, this mess with the papers, then. It isn't true?"

"Of course not!" She shook her head.

He looked relieved at her response. "Would me apologizing for being an unmitigated ass a few moments ago be an acceptable thing to do in this situation?"

Hermione felt her cheeks warm as she cleared her throat. "It would be a start."

"Let me try again. One more date. I promise not to try to impress you if you promise not to walk out on me before dessert."

The word dessert sparked an image of her drunken dreams from last night, and a _naughty_ blond doing unholy things to her. The fact that Draco's cheesecake note had contained the words 'whipped cream' had been a surprising coincidence, but she hadn't been able to leave the images behind since.

"And if it goes terribly?" she asked.

"I promise to concede and try my luck elsewhere." He leaned in closer, their noses inches away now.

"Can I think about it?" Hermione asked.

"Of course. Take all the time you need." Greg leaned up and stepped back a few paces, a satisfied grin on his face. "And here I thought things between us might be tense. I have to say, it's a relief to hear this entire situation with Malfoy is one big blown up tabloid piece. I wasn't entirely sure what the situation was when Malfoy stopped by an hour ago to cancel the private lessons."

"He what?"

Greg's expression dimmed. "I was under the impression you knew."

"I…" Hermione felt her stomach drop. "I had no idea." She tried her best to keep an even expression as she continued, "Did he say why?"

"I imagine the papers had something to do with it, but no, he didn't express a reason."

Hermione tried to reason with herself; of course, it made sense that Malfoy would cancel the private lessons. Under the force of the Daily Prophet and the rumor mill, it would only make sense. Still, there was a large portion of her that betrayed her logical side and was extremely hurt by the gesture. Nothing had happened between them. They had remained platonic and respectful. Had this been under Astoria's gesture? Or did Malfoy intend to push Hermione's friendship away, now that everyone had seen them together? Did it have to do with the 'infidelity' rumors? Or did the reason stem from something deeper? A smidgen of insecurity rose up, and Hermione wondered, for a brief moment, if it had anything to do with her blood status. She pushed the thought away quickly, reprimanding herself for thinking it.

"Are you alright?" Greg asked.

"I'm fine," she assured him, taking in a breath to calm her nerves. "I just thought maybe our friendship was worth a little more than that."

Without another word, she made her way over to the bar along the mirror and began to stretch, dreading today's lessons.

The lioness within her was furious and hurt. And, as everyone knew, it wasn't in good form to upset a lioness in her prime.

* * *

**Don't fret! Much more Dramione to come! I know, the slow burn is torture, but it will be soooooo worth the wait. Before you get gunshy, remember - Draco, Hermione, Astoria, Ron... they're all adults and need to act like it. Decisions need to be made, plot points need to be turned.**

**Be prepared for another update soon! Please leave a little love so I know I did alright?**   
**With love**   
**~A.**


	17. Madam Puddifoot's

 

****

 

**Thank you to everyone for the amazing feedback and love! It means the world to me. Seriously.**

**LightofEvolution deserves credit for Harry's proposal idea.**   
**Beta love to LondonsLegend!**

**This chapter is extra silly and plot advancing. Hope you enjoy!**   
**~A.**

* * *

**"Trust is like a paper**   
**Once it's crumbled**   
**It can't be perfect again."**   
**~Unknown**

* * *

**Downstage Right: ENTER Draco and Astoria**   
**Setting: Dance Studio Uno, cont.**

* * *

It wasn't easy stepping into Dance Studio Uno that day. Draco felt nauseated and wanted nothing more than to slip back into the green flames of the floo and pretend he hadn't just severed the only connection to a good thing he had during the week. Canceling lessons with Hermione had been difficult, but it was effective; Astoria was pleased as pie, and so was Draco's mother. It showed a 'vast sense of maturity' according to them both, but really, all Draco felt was immature for inwardly pouting at the loss of seeing someone he rather enjoyed.

If he hadn't had been such a dolt last night, he wouldn't be in this position now. Why did he think interrupting Hermione's date would do any good? He was a selfish boy playing with people's fates, just as he always did before the war. Hermione seemed to bring it out of him; that sense of childlike need to have all eyes on him. Ironic, considering when it came to his wedding, he was quite the opposite. There was something about Granger that made him forget himself and where he stood in life.

"Draco?" Astoria asked, leaning into his side as they walked hand in hand down the hall.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts long enough to answer her. "Yes?"

"Are you sure you're prepared for this?"

Draco straightened his shoulders, thinking how very much he was _not_ prepared. "Of course, Tori. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just checking."

They wandered into Dance Studio Uno with five minutes to spare, which really meant they were extremely late. Blaise and Daphne were already there, casually talking to the other couples in the corner of the room. Blaise exchanged a healthy smirk with Draco upon their arrival, nudging over to the far corner, where Hermione, Ginny Weasley, and Greg Diggle were deep in conversation. It was Greg to notice their arrival first, casually sending Draco a lofty nod of the head, which cued Hermione to turn her head and follow his gaze. The moment her eyes met Draco's, he knew he'd stepped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Hermione's eyes rested on him for only a few seconds, but it was enough to burn a hole directly through his conscience. Her eyes pulled away, and she went back to talking to her friends as if he never mattered at all.

His stomach lurched, and he coughed to hold back his vomit.

"Draco?" asked Astoria.

"Fine," he muttered, overcome with something. What the _Hell_ was this blasted emotion, and why did it pick _now_ of all times to surface? Was this shame? Is that why it left such a bad aftertaste in his mouth?

"Seen _uomo divertente baffi_ about?" asked Blaise as he strolled up to the two, his hands in his pockets.

"What does that even mean?" sneered Draco. His eyes kept flickering back to Hermione when he was sure Astoria wasn't looking. Not once did the brunette on the other side of the room acknowledge him after her initial glare. That had to mean only one thing; Greg had shared Draco's betrayal.

"Loosely translated? Funny mustache man. - Daphne and I did some damage control. You shouldn't expect any rumors to be grinding in this classroom."

"Thank you for that, Blaise," said Astoria, patting him on the shoulder. "Draco and I have yet to do some of our own, starting with Miss Granger."

"Oh, um, I wouldn't," Blaise advised her, his eyebrows creasing together, causing Astoria to gape at him, perplexed. "I said I fixed the rumor mill, not the situation. Granger, she's...well, I wouldn't go around her right now, if I were you."

"Nonsense. It's not as if _I_ was caught out with _her_ husband-to-be, now was I? If anything-"

But Draco wasn't listening. He was already halfway across the room on his way to the curly-haired friend he'd come to admire, all of his upbringing and pride out the window. He tapped her on the shoulder lightly, and she turned to meet him with a hardened expression; one that said 'touch me again, and I'll hex your testicles off.'

"Hermione," he began, "How are you-"

"You have some nerve, Malfoy," interrupted Ginny, leaning forward and muttering under her breath. "I would think you had enough fun putting Hermione through the ringer without pretending to be interested in her feelings-"

"-Gin," Hermione scolded, eyebrows creasing together. "It's fine. I can handle this." She looked between her friend and Greg, silently asking them to leave them be. Reluctantly, the pair did, leaving Draco alone with Hermione, which, potentially, could have been very dangerous. Once alone, Hermione turned her sights on him and started in, "Ginny's right, though. You _do_ have some nerve."

" _I_ have some nerve? I didn't plant the story in the paper. I'm just as shocked as you are."

"If you think this has anything to do with the paper, you're gravely mistaken." She crossed her arms defiantly. "I think we both know the reason for my less than cooperative attitude."

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but it was Astoria's voice that carried over his shoulder, interrupting him from his fumble of words. "Miss Granger, just the witch we were looking to see today."

"That statement is redundant," Hermione muttered under her breath, but Draco caught it. "Astoria," she nodded as if she hadn't said it at all.

"How are you holding up?" To Draco's surprise, it was asked with the utmost sincerity.

Hermione seemed to soften ever-so-slightly, and she blew a lock of frizzy curls out of her face before replying, "I've been better, thank you."

"We just wanted you to know, we were so shocked when it all came out this morning," said Astoria, curling her arm around Draco's and leaning her head on his shoulder. Draco felt warmth crawl up his neck and settle in his cheeks. It was hard to look at the person he fantasized about nightly and pretend he wasn't confused about what he wanted. "My father is friends with some higher ups at the Daily. This entire mess will be sorted out by tomorrow, for sure."

Hermione curtly noddedd. "Wonderful to hear." She refused to look Draco in the eye, settling her face on Astoria's instead.

"But of course," Astoria continued, "I want you to know that there's no ill will between us. We," she tightened her grip on Draco, "have a very trusting relationship, and I know that Draco wouldn't cross a line like that."

Hermione's lips pulled back into a tight smile, but her eyes burned with intensity. "I, myself, have no interest in crossing any lines. Draco is a former classmate, nothing more."

Draco looked beyond Hermione over to where Greg and Ginny were talking in hushed whispers some feet away. They must have caught his desperate expression, because Ginny simply smirked and Greg looked as if he was enjoying himself immensely at Draco's discomfort. Arrogant sod…

" _We_ thought we might invite you out for tea as a way of burying the hatchet about this whole misunderstanding," Astoria offered, her grip on Draco painfully tight now.

"Tea?" Hermione's voice caught. "Um...I…"

Draco saw his in. "What? Are you too good for tea, now?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Tea sounds wonderful," she said defiantly. "Could I invite a friend along?"

"As long as it isn't Diggle," Draco mumbled, catching the interest of both women, whose claws seemed to come out in the moment. "I mean, er, invite whomever you like."

"Perhaps we could make it an outing of friends?" Astoria offered in her most chipper of tones. She was trying, Draco had to give her that. "I could invite Blaise and Daphne, and of course, Miss Weasley is invited, too. Perhaps Auror Potter would like to join us as well?"

"Astoria," Draco warned.

"No, that sounds lovely," said Hermione, smirking in Draco's direction but never _quite_ making eye contact. "If it gets the press off our backs and stitches up this entire debacle, I'm on board."

"Lovely." Astoria reached out and grabbed Hermione's hand; Draco waited for the clencher of a backhanded compliment, but what came out instead was, "I appreciate you being so cooperative with us, despite my fiancé's idiotic exploits." Oh, so there was a backhanded compliment - it was just aimed at _him._

Hermione, to her credit, squeezed Astoria's hand and replied, "That's an understatement if I've ever heard one."

"Wonderful," Draco rolled his eyes. "We'll be in touch." He ushered Astoria away, glancing back behind his shoulder to, _finally_ , catch Hermione's stare. He wished he hadn't; it was all he could think about during dance lessons.

* * *

**Center Stage: Harry and Hermione**   
**Setting: Hogsmeade**

* * *

"Really, Harry, Honeydukes? You know Ginny doesn't care for sweets as much as you, don't you?" Hermione chided Harry two days later as they strolled down Hogsmeade. They planned to meet up with Ron and Ginny before heading into Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop to meet up with Draco, Astoria, Daphne, and Blaise. Since Ron and Ginny had been preoccupied with helping Molly tend to her garden earlier in the morning, it left Harry and Hermione time to discuss, in secret, how he would plan to propose to Ginny.

The only issue was, Harry was _terrible_ at ideas.

After the fifth attempt, Harry threw his hands up in the air and sighed as they continued to walk. "I give up, Hermione! How would you suggest I propose to her, then?"

Hermione bit down on her lower lip, knowing that her rejection of Harry's ideas had nothing to actually do with _Harry._ They all only sounded terrible because any thought of proposal brought up the thought of Draco and Astoria, and while she was very good at pretending it didn't hurt, it did. Seeing them together, knowing that he'd chosen to forego his dance lessons with Hermione to keep the peace with Astoria, had burned a hole inside Hermione's heart like a cigar held far too long to paper. _Damn it,_ _he's not mine!_ she scolded herself.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she apologized. "I suppose I'm not great company today."

"You wanna talk about it?" Harry offered, holding the shop door of Honeydukes open for her. Hermione stepped inside and caught sight of Ron in the far left corner, eyeing a towering chocolate frogs station. Pressing her lips together, she shook her head to answer him.

"Thanks, but I'm just not in the mood to discuss my feelings right now. All of your ideas were lovely."

"They were rubbish," he admitted as the door shut behind them. He waved at Ron and curled an arm around Hermione as he began walking her toward their friend. "Okay, I've got one last one. You tell me if it sounds alright."

"If wha' sounds alrigh'?" asked Ron, his mouth full of chocolate frog.

"Ronald, I hope you planned on paying for that," Hermione scolded. Ron merely gave a shrug as Harry held up one finger to enunciate his proposal idea.

"What if I surprise her on the Quidditch pitch in the semi-finals? Go out there during the halftime show, put a ring in a snitch and propose to her on a broomstick in front of her fans?"

Ron, his mouth still full of chocolate, stopped mid-chew and raised his eyebrows in consideration. Hermione, meanwhile, fought the urge to wipe the corner of his chocolate-drenched mouth and instead thought about Harry's plan.

"That's...not half bad, Harry," she said.

Harry smiled triumphantly. "Yeah?"

"Gin 'ould 'ove eh!"

"Oh, Ronald, swallow your food!" Hermione chastised.

Ron gulped, swiped at his mouth with the back of his sleeves, and said, "Gin would love it. She says she's not gaudy like that, but we all know it would make her weak in the knees."

"It does sound romantic," agreed Hermione.

Harry grinned like a fool. "Great!" He sounded a bit aloof and lost. "I'll, um, talk to the...and...uh…"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione ushered Ron up to the front desk to pay for his chocolates as she said over her shoulder, "I'll write up a letter to the gameskeeper of the pitch and help you work something out."

"You're the best, Hermione."

When the three stepped onto the sidewalk of Hogsmeade once more, they set off in search of Madam Puddifoot's in quiet chatter about how to make Harry's proposal that much better. It did wonders for Hermione's soul, knowing that she could take her mind off of Draco, if only for a moment. However, when they arrived at the tea shop, all of that freedom was lost on her the moment she spotted him inside the shop window, seated with his back to the glass. His blond hair gave him away, but even if he wore hair as dark as Harry's, it would have been easy to tell it was him by the way he sat so rigid and proper in his chair. Astoria sat next to him at a large, rounded table, and when she caught sight of the trio in the shop window, she waved. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes as she grumbled, "Can I vomit?"

"S'free lunch. You sure you wanna do that?" Ron jostled her in the side with his elbow, a lopsided grin on his face.

"You two go on. I'm going to wait for Ginny," said Harry.

"Don't worry, 'Mione. I'm right here with you," Ron offered, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Knowing the Slytherins, all of the bad jokes will be aimed at me, not you."

"That's not what I'm worried about," she told him as he reached out and pushed the door open, dragging her in. "Astoria's far too friendly for a woman whose future husband was caught out at night with another woman."

"Pureblood women," Ron shrugged. "That's just their way - kill you with kindness, and I mean that literally. My mum thought my dad was seeing some witch in accounting once - she baked him pies until he gained thirty pounds. Then she realized he was only talking to her to try to save money so they could go on a vacation...Mum started baking _the accountant_ pies for a whole month!"

Stepping up to the table, Hermione noticed there were two empty chairs on both sides of the table, separating her party up amongst the Slytherins. Hermione gulped as she was about to choose the chairs furthest from Draco when Astoria waved her on and patted the available chair next to her. "Miss Granger, right here!"

Cringing, Hermione took the seat, thankful when Ron took the chair next to her, and inadvertently, beside Daphne.

"Hullo," he said quietly, already reaching for the scones provided in the middle of the table.

"So glad you could make it," Astoria said, reaching over and clasping Hermione's hand. Draco sat next to his bride-to-be, his head tucked down as he stared into his glass of water.

"There aren't any cameras around," Hermione replied, trying her best to keep her voice neutral. "You don't need to hold my hand."

"That's just how Astoria is," offered Daphne, dabbing at the corner of her crimson lips with her napkin. "Believe me, I've told her to stop trying so hard to be your friend, but it doesn't seem to work."

The table grew instantly tense, and Astoria dropped her hands into the middle of her lap.

"Well...kneazle's out of the bag, yeah?" Blaise tried, toasting his glass of iced tea. "To my darling wife, who knows how to make any situation more awkward with one sentence!"

Ron snorted in laughter, blowing bits of scone onto the table. Hermione sighed, unraveling her silverware and swiping the bits of pastry from the table.

"...Forgive me, Miss Granger," said Astoria quietly, drawing the attention of the table. "I'm just unsure how to act in this situation."

"Believe me, I think we're all right there with you," muttered Hermione, sending a hearty glare in Draco's direction. "And hello to you, too."

He lifted his eyes and glanced around the table as if he'd forgotten everyone was there. "Are we really going to attempt pleasantries?" he sneered dully.

" _Really_ , Draco," scolded Astoria.

"Hmph." He turned his head and waved the group off as if he had nothing to say. Perhaps he didn't. It only made Hermione feel worse.

A moment later, Harry and Ginny stepped into the shop, taking their seats across from Ron and Hermione. Harry sat next to Blaise and Ginny next to Draco, completing the circle.

Apparently, this had been what Blaise was waiting for. "Potter, just the man I've been wanting to talk to."

"Er...that right?" Harry asked, his hand still clasped in Ginny's.

"Have you ever thought about a career in modeling?"

Ron now all-out chortled into his water as Harry's eyes went wide. "Can't say I have, considering I've been spending most of my career putting away dark witches and wizards…"

"I think you'd be just the right fit for a new line of clothing I have coming out," Blaise continued.

"Oh, not _this_ again," Daphne rolled her eyes.

"He's not talking about what I think he's talking about, is he?" asked Draco, finally back from his thoughts again.

"I've got these trousers, Potter, short trousers that would really accentuate your calves-"

"-Oh, _great_. We're back to the damned shorts."

"What's wrong with my shorts?" Blaise asked innocently.

Draco pointed his salad fork at his friend accusingly. "They're about as tight as those ridiculous underwear."

"Do I want to know?" Hermione couldn't help but ask Daphne, who shook her head as if to say, 'No.'

"Harry, a model!" Ron threw his head back in laughter. "Now _that_ I'd pay to see! Come on, Harry! Strike us a pose!"

"I'm _really_ not interested, Zabini," Harry shook his head, cheeks dusted with red.

"You do have nice calves," Ginny noted, making Harry roll his eyes.

"Oh, see? We're all getting along so splendidly!" Astoria exclaimed, drawing all of their attentions and bursting the bubble of natural friendliness.

"Tori, _dear,_ " said Draco, "if you have to point out that everyone is getting along, it tends to make things awkward."

"I realize that now," she blushed, taking a sip from her water.

The waitress arrived, to everyone's relief, and they each ordered their teas and some bakery goods for the table, all on the Malfoy bill. _Good_ , Hermione thought. _He should pay for it. Getting me into this mess...I could have just shagged Greg and gotten Malfoy out of my mind, but ohhhh, no! He had to go and be charming, and eat icecream, and boop my nose with his finger, and tell me how symmetrical my face was...the codfish._

"I'm thinking us ladies could all do with a bit of alcohol as well?" offered Astoria. "We'll take a round of snapdragons, and the men…butterbeers, gents?"

"I'm not gonna turn down free alcohol," said Ron with a grin.

Astoria's eyes lit up. "My sentiments exactly. Thank you, Mister Weasley."

"Ron," he offered Astoria before leaning over and whispering in Hermione's ear so only she could hear, "She doesn't seem that bad, 'Mione."

 _I know,_ she thought. _She's making it difficult for me to dislike her. If only I could...it would make things so much easier._ She tried her very best not to keep glancing over at Draco, but she failed after another minute went by. The moment she did, she was caught in his silver irises. He looked just as frustrated as she did by everything, but he said not a word in her direction.

"Some free lemon-bread for the table," the waitress said a moment later, setting down a loaf for the group. The moment the steam wafted in Daphne's direction, she paled, covering her mouth with her napkin.

"Daph?" asked Blaise, rubbing her shoulder gently.

"I'm going to...oh, goodness…" In a flash, Daphne leaped from the table and dashed off in the direction of the bathroom. Blaise was quick to throw down his napkin, but he didn't make it two feet from the table before they all could hear (and see) Daphne puking into a display vase near the door.

"Oh my goodness," Astoria gasped.

"Yick," Ginny muttered. "Poor girl."

"It's a common occurrence," said Hermione without thinking. "There are some women that experience morning sickness their entire pregna...ncy…" Her eyes went wide the moment she realized what she'd said. Her eyes instantly jerked over to Astoria, praying, by some twist of fate, she hadn't heard. But of course, she had. The young witch's eyes grew round as saucers as she laughed nervously and set her napkin down on the table.

"What? Daphne's not pregnant. I'm her sister. _I_ would know if she was…" She turned her attention to Draco. "Isn't that right?"

Draco only sat in silence, glaring furiously at Hermione.

"Draco?" Astoria asked. When he said nothing, only hardened his mouth into a thin line, she realized the truth. "...You knew." She looked around the room. "Did everyone know?" Her eyes set on Blaise. "Did they?" Her head jerked back in Draco's direction. "You _knew_?"

"For the record, I didn't know," Ron said, and Hermione nudged him in the ribs to be silent. Harry and Ginny exchanged awkward glances with her, knowing this wasn't their scene.

"Tori," Draco began, but Astoria slammed her hand down on the table, silencing him.

"You _knew_. How long did you know?"

"...Since they arrived back from Italy?"

"Unbelievable!" Astoria was in full blown embarrassment now, and it showed by the distraught, betrayed look in her eyes. "And yet, _she_ knows." She pointed to Hermione.

"I guessed!" Hermione tried to explain. "No one told me."

"But you knew," Astoria spoke to Draco still.

Daphne was still puking in the vase, offering background music to the event.

"Astoria, love, calm down," Blaise tried, but it only infuriated her more.

"Calm down!? Calm down? My own _sister_ is pregnant and no one thought to let me know!"

"Oh, we thought about it," said Draco quietly. "We all just knew you'd act exactly the way you are now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Dramatic." He threw the back of his hand on his forehead for show.

"Dramatic! I am _not_ dramatic!" Astoria shouted, stomping her foot. She realized what she did because she sobered almost immediately and said her next words very quietly. "I see...if you'll excuse me." And with that, she pushed out her chair and stormed off in the direction of the bathrooms, tears in her eyes.

"Er...I gotta use the loo," Ron said, breaking the silence. "I know, I know, bad timing and all…" he stood and headed off in the direction of the bathrooms as well. Blaise went to check on Daphne, leaving Harry and Ginny to watch the carnage unfold between Draco and Hermione.

Hermione prepared for the worst. What she got instead was an eerily calm Draco Malfoy setting his folded napkin down on the table before growling, barely above a whisper. "Granger. Outside. _Now._ "

* * *

**Very excited to hear everyone's thoughts!**   
**Oh, and to the dear who said all these "Draco and Astoria scenes are gross." Um, it's called character development and being an adult who understands how relationships work? I -did- say it was going to be a slow burn, and I -did- say Astoria and Draco were together in the summary. If you didn't get that, I'm terribly sorry.**

**As for the rest of you (hearts) will this finally be the turning point for Astoria and Draco?**   
**#TangoTuesday is a thing. I plan to update Tuesdays! Just giving everyone the heads up. Follow me on facebook to get extra snippets and keep posted about important events!**   
**~A.**


	18. Graffiti of the Heart

 

****

**Beta love to LondonsLegend**  
 **Alpha love to LightofEvolution**  
I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as myself.  
A.

* * *

**"Don't settle. Don't finish crappy books. If you don't like the menu, leave the restaurant. If you're not on the right path, get off of it."  
~Chris Brogan**

* * *

**Madam Puddifoot's**

**Scene cont.**

* * *

Draco was _furious._ No, furious couldn't even begin to cover it. He knew that, should he chase after Astoria in this very moment, he would lose his temper and take out his frustrations on her instead of the witch who deserved it: Hermione. That thorn in his side needed to be taken out back and-

"By all means, Draco. Let's go." She was already up from the table in a matter of seconds, throwing him off of his game. Draco sputtered to regain focus as he shuffled himself out of his chair and gestured to the private back patio of Puddifoot's. As soon as the door closed behind them, Draco took out his wand and gave it a wave, setting up several types of concealing and muffling spells. The last thing he needed was someone overhearing them from the streets.

He tried to keep his icy composure as his eyes met Hermione's. "You have _some_ nerve."

" _I_ have some nerve, is it?" she started in, which startled the Malfoy heir. He expected her to be apologetic, perhaps frightened of his cold demeanor. Instead, she was as ferocious and brave as the Gryffindor house she had been sorted into. Why had he expected any different? "You're keeping secrets from your future wife, and _I_ have the nerve. Ha! That's rich!" She poked him in the chest with her pointer finger. "If you'd been honest from the beginning, none of this would be a surprise! And really, Draco? You walk _me_ outside to try and chew me out when you _should_ be inside with Astoria! As cowardly as ever!"

Hot, blinding frustration flashed across Draco's mind. "How _dare_ you call me cowardly? I'm simply-"

"-Simply ignoring the real problem here, which is that _you_ should have told her!"

"It wasn't my secret to tell, Granger!" he shouted suddenly, losing his composure. "Blaise and Daphne asked me not to! Am I supposed to just go against their wishes?"

Hermione placed her hands on her hips - the way she did back in their school days when Weasley was about to get a firm talking to. "Malfoy, when you love someone, _truly_ love someone, you no longer see yourself as two people who have secrets to keep from each other. You're a driving force of unity that handles all things _together_. If you truly cared for Astoria, you would have put your foot down to Blaise and Daphne and her."

It was like a light clicked on in the back of Draco's mind, illuminating a speck of truth behind her words. He'd never thought of it like that…There was a moment of hesitance as his mouth opened to rebuttal, but he felt uncertain in what he would say, and so he remained silent.

Just then, the door to the back patio opened, and Blaise popped his head out. "Oi, mate. I'm taking Daph home. She's still in a rough sort."

"Sorry to hear it," Draco muttered, arms crossed in a defensive stance as he stared, bewildered, at the frizzy-haired woman in front of him. She stood defiantly, though there was a shred of humility as her eyes drifted over to Blaise, who made a low, guttural 'hmph' at the back of his throat when their eyes met.

"My apologies," said Hermione. "But perhaps if you wouldn't have kept it a secret-"

Blaise shut the door hard enough to rattle the shingles on the roof.

"Marvelous," popped off Draco. "You certainly have a way with words."

Hermione turned her back to him, crossing her arms. Now that she did it, he felt very silly in the same pose. "And you, apparently, have none to offer."

"Come again?"

"You should have just told me," she said, quieter than before. "I understand the papers were a huge controversy, but you could have just told me you were canceling our private lessons."

Draco's body tensed. He wasn't sure which was worse - the fact that she had managed to make him feel guilty for not telling Astoria, or the fact that she was right in every sense; he couldn't find words to offer anyone these days.

All of the white-hot rage he felt moments ago sizzled out, leaving him lightheaded and drained. "...I see where that could have been juvenile on my part." Her head whipped around, and her eyes caught his; it made his entire body sing. "I didn't have a way of telling you." When she snorted a laugh, he continued, "I _didn't_ , Hermione. Astoria was upset enough about everything, and I had to do whatever made her feel comfortable. She's...to be my wife, after all."

A small blush crept up Hermione's cheeks, and she dabbed at the corner of her eyes. Was she crying? "Even still, you could have been the one to tell me."

Draco shuffled in place. "I understand that."

"I truly am sorry about...all of this." She waved her hand dismissively. "Letting out the family secret. Causing so much trouble with your relationship. It was never my intention."

 _I invited_ you _out, remember?_ Draco thought to himself. "Yes, well...it takes two to Tango, doesn't it?" he smirked, uncrossing his arms and offering out his palms instead to show his candidness. "Perhaps...if I hadn't interrupted your date and forced you to drink with me, we wouldn't have been so sloshed enough to find ourselves in such a compromising position." He took a step forward, as if he were approaching a stray kneazle.

Hermione didn't scare away or take a step back, but she did stare at him with a fondness unfamiliar to him. It made the tips of his ears burn.

"If it makes you feel any better," he said, "Astoria and I...we're not doing as well as we'd like, anyway. Even before the incident." When he said the word 'incident', it felt like he was describing an affair - but it hadn't been. Just two chums out for drinks. Just two chums eating ice cream and walking down the muggle streets outside of Diagon and holding each other at a fountain...just two chums wishing that Hermione's dessert fantasy could have lasted longer.

"I think that was obvious from the get-go," she said. "And I _am_ sorry about spilling the beans."

Scrunching his face up in confusion, Draco asked, "Beans? I'm quite sure there are just pastries in there…"

The door came open again, this time to present Harry Potter, the ignorant sod, and his far-too-ginger girlfriend, Ginny. "Everything alright out here?" he asked.

"I'm fine, Harry," said Hermione gingerly. "I can handle the giant man-baby."

Ginny Weasley gave a snigger under her hand before saying, "Never doubted you could."

"We're um...we're heading out," said Potter to Hermione, "if you wanted to…" He gestured his head toward the door, beckoning her to come with them.

"If it's all the same, Harry, I think I'd like to offer Astoria my apologies," she replied. "You two go on."

"You sure?" Potter asked with a protective tone, his eyes shooting over to Draco, who had the sudden urge to hex four-eyes into oblivion.

"Come on, Harry. We both know Malfoy would be on his back in five seconds if he tried anything," said Ginny. "Malfoy, just so you know, we put two soups and a box of tea on your tab."

"You _what_?"

"Bye!"

And then they were gone, the door _whamming_ shut behind them.

"What do you care?" asked Hermione. "You're disgustingly rich."

Draco smirked. "That I am, Granger. That I am." He rolled his eyes. "What's next? Is Weasley going to buy out the store, too? Knowing him and that appetite…" He was tempted, oh so tempted, to ask the question that burned inside of him. So he did. "So, you and Weasley came here together...should I assume…?"

Hermione's eyes went wide. "What? Oh! Oh, no. No, we're here as friends. It was the least I could do after our conversation."

Draco's heart sped up its pace. "Conversation?"

"I guess I took your advice. Sort of." Her eyebrows wove together at her admittance. "Ron came to check on me after the paper. It's when I let him down."

A smug grin set upon Draco's face so quick, it nearly made him dizzy. "What was that, Granger? I couldn't hear you. You took my advice?"

"Oh, shut it and go find Astoria," Hermione shooed him.

"Who?"

"You!"

"Oh, right." Draco nodded. "Me."

* * *

**Offstage left: Ron Weasley**   
**Setting: The loo**

* * *

Ron had just finished his bathroom time in record success - well, for him, anyway. Ginny used to complain he spent hours in the bathroom, but really, he was a _man_ , and men had things to _do_ when it came to their bathroom breaks. It wasn't like women, powdering their noses and gossiping and...whatever it was women did.

Apparently, they also liked to cry in bathrooms, because as he stepped out of men's lavatory, he could hear a soft sob from the other door across the hall. Debating his best course of action, he nearly hightailed it back to the table - that was, if he hadn't stepped on his untied shoelaces and catapulted himself forward and into the women's lavatory door. His body weight pushed the door open with a _thud_ , and he fell inside, releasing a strangled, "Oof!"

To his left, he saw the pretty woman named Astoria curled up in a little ball beside the sink, dabbing at her eyes with a roll of toilet paper. No, not just a section: the entire roll. It was comedic, but not nearly as Ron's mishap of falling into the women's restroom. Trying to pretend as if it was what he meant to do, he hoisted himself up on his elbow and asked, "Are you alright?"

Astoria, to her credit, didn't laugh at him. She merely stared in a mixture of horror and shock, followed by a series of light giggles into her palm. Still, even when she did, Ron didn't feel as if they were aimed _at_ him. Rather, they felt more like she was laughing out of nervousness.

"Am _I_ alright?" she asked, sniffling against the paper roll. "Are _you_ alright?"

Ron scrambled to sit up, drawing his long legs closer in and effectively shutting the door as they no longer blocked the way. He scratched the side of his neck, trying to appear nonchalant. "Yeah, I'm alright. Just a bit...banged up. Nothing I can't handle." He puffed out his chest a little. "After all, I've fought off dark wizards. Y'think I'm gonna let a door get the best of me?"

Astoria sniffled again. "What _really_ happened?"

"...Shoelaces."

This time, she _did_ laugh. It was a cute sound. One he used to associate with Hermione, though this time it felt less condescending.

"Draco's quite clumsy, too," she said, scooting across the bathroom floor, at the same time reaching for her wand, which was tucked under her skirt against a leg-holster. Ron caught the bit of creamy skin lurking beneath her skirt and blushed the color of a tomato. He watched as Astoria gave the wand a wave over his head before it emitted blue sparks. "No concussion. That's good news."

"Yayyy…." Ron pumped his fist lightly in a mock cheer, a grin across his face, hoping it would cheer her up. "So...why are you so upset about your sis being pregnant?"

"I'm not."

"Well, you're crying. In a bathroom. Alone."

"I'm _crying_ because Draco chose to keep a secret from me. Not only him, but apparently my sister, too." She raised the top of her skirt and slipped the wand back in place inside its holster. It had been quite a while since Ron had seen such a pretty leg - or any part of a woman, for that matter. He jerked his head forward, afraid of her catching him staring. "To answer your question, I'm _hurt,_ Mister Weasley."

"Like I said, Ron'll do. My dad's Mister Weasley."

He stiffened when Astoria moved even closer to him. "I'm sorry," she said, reaching out and touching his chest. "I just…" She brushed at his shirt, swiping crumbs off of it. They fell to the floor, and Ron released a muffled laugh.

"Oh." He helped her brush the rest off. "Yeah. Sorry 'bout that."

"It's alright, _Ron._ " Astoria gave a pleasant smile, her eyes still red from crying. " _I'm_ sorry. It's habit."

"I don't mind. Hermione used to do it back when we were dating." He paused. "Not that we are anymore." He sighed. "Mind if I mope in the bathroom with you?"

"By all means," she said, gesturing around with a sniffle, "my bathroom is your bathroom."

"Great." Ron scooted back against the wall and leaned his head against the stones. He was just about to close his eyes when he began to hear more soft sobs. His eyes popped open, and he saw Astoria weeping, her face pressed against the toilet paper roll. It was nearly comical. "You...er...wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay..." He tried to close his eyes again.

"It's just...he's so secretive, that Draco!" Astoria shouted, startling Ron. "It seems the harder I try to get to know him, the further away he slips. I thought we were a _team_. Partners don't lie to each other. Partners don't hide things. And partners _certainly_ don't disappear to go drinking with a pretty witch with far more intelligence…"

 _Oi,_ Ron thought, _why'd I have to fall into_ this _bathroom?_ He tried to comfort her. "Nothing went on between him and 'Mione, believe me."

"Of course, nothing happened. If they did, I wouldn't be here trying to salvage my relationship." Astoria grumbled, "But it doesn't mean I don't see the way he looks at her."

"...Or she looks at him," Ron added, haunted by the thought of the Daily Paper with Hermione curled in Malfoy's lap. "That twat doesn't know the first thing about how to treat a woman." _So why does Hermione stare at him the way she does?_

"Are we fools?" asked Astoria quietly - so quiet, Ron nearly didn't hear.

"Maybe," he muttered back. The next moment, a warmth pressed against his side as Astoria leaned her cheek against his shoulder. "Look, Astoria, I don't wanna go butting my nose into other people's business, but you seem like a nice enough girl. What the bloody Hell are you doing with a chump like Malfoy?"

"He isn't a chump."

"I've known the guy a loooong time. Believe me. He's a chump."

"He's just...damaged." She tilted her face up, and he tilted his face down to meet her. "I thought I knew him, but it feels like we're growing apart."

Ron nodded awkwardly. "Probably because he's a chump."

"You don't know what he's like. Not really. After the war, he grew quiet and self-loathing. I tried pulling him out of it. I thought, maybe, if I kept caring for him, the way his mother used to, he'd eventually snap out of it. But he doesn't trust me to hold secrets or to confide in me or-" Tears streamed down her cheeks as her eyes met Ron's. "I just don't understand why I'm not _good enough._ "

Ron wasn't great with words, but he knew the feeling of being found wanting very well. Out of sympathy, and perhaps because there was a pretty girl crying on his shoulder, he reached over with his hand and brushed a few tears off of Astoria's chin. "You seem just fine to me."

A soft pair of lips met his, and his eyes went as round as tea cups. One moment, he had been comforting Astoria, and the next moment she was _kissing_ him. Her hands wove in his shirt, pulling him even closer, and fingers slipped up into his hair, and _good gravy_ , her lips were so soft. Ron found himself kissing back because he was a _guy_ and this was a _beautiful woman_ with a sensational body who was _climbing into his lap_... Ron's senses went into overdrive, and he melted against the wall like a chocolate frog left out on the sidewalk.

Astoria pulled away, eyes fluttering open. She blinked back at him, just as shocked as he was.

"Oh my...oh my word...I'm so sorry, Mister Weasley-"

"Ron-"

"Ron, I don't know what came over-"

"S'alright-"

"I shouldn't have-"

"Really, I'm fine-" He reached out and stroked his thumb down her cheek. "Calm down. S'alright. It's just...pre-wedding jitters. Everyone gets them."

"Do they?" she asked desperately.

"I dunno, really," Ron shrugged. "Never been married. But my brother George kissed a cow before marrying Angelina. D'you think that counts?"

"Are...are you comparing yourself to a _cow_?"

"Gin says I eat like one-"

Astoria's lips were on him again. "That-" kiss. "Is simply," another kiss, "adorable-" She kept kissing him: on the lips, over his jaw, down his throat. Ron knew this wasn't the best spot to be in, but _Merlin,_ she was a talented kisser. And gorgeous, too. And-

 _Thud._ The door came open. "Astoria?"

All kissing ceased. Astoria sat rigid in Ron's lap, her eyes wide and horrified. Slowly, she turned around to meet the startled, well-angered state that was Draco Malfoy.

"Draco!" she gasped, pushing herself off of Ron's lap quicker than a snitch zoomed through the air at a Quidditch game. She was on her feet in two seconds flat, brushing down her skirt. "I...I can-"

But Malfoy's was already mid-incantation as he aimed his wand directly at Ron. The next moment, Ron found his stomach twisting and groaning before he felt nausea overcome him. He raced past Astoria to a stall before upchucking a thick, yellow slug the size of his thumb. "Ah, gross!"

"Draco! Draco let's talk about this-" Astoria was shouting, but by the sound of the door slamming, Malfoy was already gone. Astoria cursed under her breath before tapping on the stall door. "Are you alright, Ron?"

"Blegh!" was his reply before he vomited another slug, this time the color of puce.

* * *

**Oh dear. Astoria had an emotional breakdown! What does this mean? (evil smile) We will see soon, won't we?**   
**And before you go hating on her, just remember: she's younger, less mature, has a LOT of burdens and responsibilities all weighing her down, and _finally_ , someone told her she was enough. That had to have meant everything to her. **   
**~A.**


	19. Where is Draco Malfoy?

****

 

**A special thank you to LondonsLegend for the beta work! We should find out sometime tonight or tomorrow what the results of the Dramione Awards are. Either way, it has been an honor for Tango to be in the "Best Romance" category, and I'm honored to be up against some amazing contenders.**

**Hope ya'll love this chapter. You've earned it. Seriously. If you've stuck around this long, you're about to get a cookie.**

**~A.**

* * *

**"A woman knows when she looks into a man's eyes and sees someone else."**   
**~Unknown.**

* * *

**Stage Right: Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley**   
**Setting: Dance Studio Uno**

* * *

Three days passed and no one, especially not Hermione, had seen hide nor hair of Draco Lucius Malfoy. He didn't show up to dance lessons, he hadn't returned home to retrieve his things - at least, not according to Astoria, who had shown up to try to talk to him, but to no avail. According to Señor Diggle, the lessons were still fully paid for, but he couldn't _force_ a student to show up, 'no matter how enticing of a teacher' he was. Astoria had left the dance studio in a fit of tears as Hermione and Ginny exchanged knowing glances. Ron had confessed in record time, though he claimed he hadn't initiated any of it.

"D'you think Malfoy's alright?" asked Ginny quietly as the girls gathered their things.

Hermione recalled the blazing fury in his eyes when he'd left Madam Puddifoot's without so much as a word to her. It was then she found Ron hurling up slugs in the bathroom, Astoria coaxing him and patting him on the back all the while.

"I have a sneaking suspicion he hasn't gone completely ghost," Hermione grumbled as she watched Blaise Zabini exchange adoring kisses with his wife. "If I don't show up for next lesson, assume I've been murdered and my body has been disposed of."

"Huh?" asked Ginny, only half-listening. Hermione straightened her shoulders, threw the bag she carried with her over her shoulder, and trudged over to Zabini, thoroughly determined.

"Ahem," she cleared her throat when he didn't so much as glance her way.

"Miss Granger," said Daphne, trying her best to sound approachable, though it was tense.

"Oh, let's just skip the formalities, shall we? I flubbed up. I'm adult enough to admit it." She tried to catch eyes with Blaise, but he stared off in the distance as if she were an ugly, dead mole he'd rather not have to stare at. "I have a sneaking suspicion, however, that you two know exactly where Draco is hiding out."

Blaise snorted. "Is that so?" He still refused to look at her, instead holding his eyesight over her head. "Daph, do you hear something?"

"Blaise, act like an adult," Daphne scolded, swatting him on the arm with her delicate hand. She brought her attention back to Hermione. "Don't you think if we knew where Draco was, we would have told Astoria?"

"No, actually, I don't." Hermione crossed her arms. "Considering the three of you have no problems withholding secrets from her, I certainly _don't_ think you would bestow that sort of information without Draco's permission."

"And even if we _did_ know, which we don't, what makes you think we would tell _you_?" asked Blaise, now observing the immaculate cuticles of his fingernails.

"Because _someone_ has to talk to him."

"And you don't think we've tried?" asked Daphne with frustration. "Draco has the temper of a bull, and he's twice as hard headed. He won't listen to reason."

"Exactly," said Hermione. "Which is why I never planned on approaching him with such notions."

Daphne and Blaise carefully looked to one another as if to ask each other what they thought. To Hermione's surprise, it was Blaise to say, "Jot this down."

Grinning, she said, "I'm all ears."

"Actually, you're all hair, but that's of little consequence…"

"Zabini…"

* * *

**Stage Left: Draco Malfoy and a bottle of firewhiskey**   
**Setting: The White Lace Chateau, his mother's Summer home in Ireland.**

* * *

Draco Malfoy stared up at the ceiling as the room around him spun wildly in his vision. He really wished it wouldn't, but he hardly had any control; that was the firewhiskey's doing, and it was quite proud of the swirling vortex that made Draco sick to his stomach every time he moved his head, even just a little.

Part of him was sure he stunk to high heaven, and the other part of him couldn't care less. He was hiding out, so he didn't reckon anyone would show up to find out. His throat parched and his body dehydrated, he rolled over on the bed only to fall off of it and onto the floor. "Oof!" Popping his head up, he rubbed his sore nose and, with wobbly knees, pulled himself upright and stumbled his way to the bathroom. As he leaned against the counter, he took a good, hard look at himself.

Nevermind the tousled hair and unbecoming stubble; Draco wore a grim expression worthy of any broken man.

One would think finding his bride-to-be locking lips with his childhood nemesis' assistant would be the culprit, however - it wasn't that. Not even a little bit. It had everything to do with the fact that, upon witnessing it, he felt _nothing_. Not a twinge of anger. Not an inkling of hatred. Nothing. - Oh, sure, he was furious it was _with Ron Weasley_ , but the fact that Astoria had kissed someone other than Draco did none of what it should have. He knew he was supposed to feel upset, betrayed, wronged. Really, the only part that seemed upset was his pride; being cheated on, in any capacity, certainly was a blow to the ego.

Still, with his dreams and the way Granger's eyes made his stomach churn, Draco knew he had no room to talk. There was something crawling out of the depths of his desires, and it was scrambling for purchase against his morals. Damn it, it felt like Hermione was literally crawling under his skin, burning up his epidermis and making him itch to see her.

That's really the true reason he'd tucked himself away so no one would find him, including Astoria. Yes, he knew he needed to talk to her, but he knew that the moment he did, he would have to admit to himself that he didn't blame her, not even a little bit. It wasn't as if he'd been the best husband-to-be. Quite the opposite, in fact. And he wanted so desperately to be that man, but who was he kidding? All of his thoughts kept swirling back to Hermione Granger.

He took another pull from his bottle and decided that perhaps a bath would be best. Maybe he could drown himself - quite literally - and all of his problems would drown with him.

It was hard to put the bottle down long enough to peel his clothes off, but he did so, reluctantly, and ran the faucet at full blast, testing the temperature. As he watched the tub fill, his thoughts fell to Hermione again. Damn it. Damn her. Damn her curly hair and her know-it-all attitude and her jiggly breasts and adorable smile and...fuck. Bad Draco. Very bad. Deplorable.

He lowered himself into the tub slowly, and just when he was submerged to his shoulders, he realized he'd forgotten the bottle of firewhiskey. "Fuck it all. _Accio my damn bottle!_ " The container flew across the room into his hand, and Draco smirked. A bit of wandless magic every now and again, especially while drunk, was fun.

He leaned his head back against the basin as water tickled behind his ears. The warmth, mixed with his already blurred vision, made him extremely tired, and he was happy to take another sip of his alcohol, thinking how he would love nothing more than to disappear, go under an assumed name, and live like a hermit. The only issue with that was he would be far too handsome for someone not to recognize him.

 _You need to face your issues eventually_ , an annoying little voice that sounded very close to Hermione's whispered in the back of his mind.

 _Bugger off_ , he told it, _No one asked for your opinion._

He moved his free hand under the water, resting it on his thigh. There was a slight twitch in his groin as he thought how easy it would be to wank it. And who would stop him, really? No one, that's who. He'd kept himself from it for the last three days because he feared of who he might fantasize about, but in his drunken stupor, he could hardly care less. Slowly, his hand moved closer and closer to his aching cock, and before long, his fingers curled around the firmness between his thighs, and he sighed anxiously.

His thoughts shamefully turning to Hermione, he conjured up an unconventional image of her as he began to stroke himself; in his mind, she wore a loose tank top and the shortest of shorts, dancing in Dance Studio Uno. Her face was free of all makeup, and her hair bounced wildly against her shoulders as she practiced the steps. There was something so beautiful, so _captivating,_ about her this way. It wasn't just the way her breasts bounced or her hips swayed; she looked so carefree in his mind. Her smile lit up a room the same way it had that night dancing with the Red Hat Society. Her determination was inspiring, and his hand around his cock moved fluidly in the water, causing him to hiss a breath of elation.

Merlin, if only this image were real. If only she was really here so that he might know what it was like to feel her pressed against him again...he knew this was wrong. Things with Astoria weren't fixed, and he hadn't helped in that department. Hell, he didn't even know _how_ to fix something as broken as them. But he could enjoy _this_ \- these private moments in his mind where no one could see what a despicable bastard he was.

" _Draco, are you here?"_ the vision in his mind called out; the corners of his lips turned up in a smirk.

"All here for you," he muttered in his drunken state, tightening his grip around his prick.

_Knock, knock, knock._

Draco pried his eye open, glaring at the door. Was it the chateau's house elf? "Blinky, whatever it is, go away. I don't want to be disturbed."

"Draco, is that you?" a feminine voice asked from the other side. "I'm coming in!"

One moment, Draco was alone in the bathroom with his hand around his cock - the next, he was _not_ alone in the bathroom, but he still had his hand around his cock, all the same. Someone turned the handle and barged right on in, taking up space in the doorway and glaring with a determined expression worthy of Draco's fantasies.

" _Hermi-Granger?"_ Draco shot up in the water, releasing his cock in a strangled cry as he flailed about, trying to gather his wits. "What the shite!" He dropped the bottle of whiskey into the bathtub and cursed loudly as the contents began to mix with the bathwater. Growling under his breath, he shot her an incredulous look. "What the _Hell_ are you doing in my bathroom?"

* * *

If faces could tell stories, Hermione's would have been a mix of horror, surprise, suspense, and a little nudity. All in all, her story would have been rated for mature audiences only as her eyes drifted over the naked-in-a-tub-of-bathwater Draco Malfoy. His hair was slicked back by the water like his days of youth, yet it did anything but make him look younger. He was all steely eyes, taut muscle, and glowing, pale skin. And even though the water rippled at the surface, she could also see the stimulated, _lengthy_ appendage bobbing between his thighs.

"Oh my." She spun around quickly and averted her gaze. "Oh, oh dear. Oh….oh! _Oh!_ "

"Keep shouting 'oh' like that and someone is bound to think we're shagging," Draco stated in amusement. "Tell me, do you just walk in on everyone in the bathroom?"

"Oh!" she shouted again, but this time in contempt. "I had _no_ idea this was a bathroom, I assure you!" Hermione patted her cheeks, attempting to drown out her embarrassment. "When I arrived, the door was unlocked, and the house elves pointed me in this direction and I-I..."

The sound of water slapping along the basin could be heard, and she fidgeted on the spot as she heard wet footsteps approach from behind. A hand reach past her to the door before shutting it and reaching for a towel hanging from a knob on it. A warm breath tickled her cheek. "Might not want to turn around for a moment," he said in a husky, slurrish way. Hermione could only nod in reply before the scent of cinnamon and alcohol was gone, along with his form.

Some moments later, he said, "Alright. All safe."

Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to turn around at all. She'd come here to talk some sense into the man that had disappeared for three days straight, but now that she was here, and he was so _close_ and _naked_ , all of her thoughts on helping him with Astoria took a nosedive out the window. A very selfish part of her, one she didn't like to admit to, nearly wished for him to shove her up against that door and have his way with her out of frustration as a rebound. The other, more logical side of her shook its head from the corner of her psyche and told her she needed to purchase herself a better collection of tawdry romance novels.

Slowly, she turned around and met his gaze; Draco wore only a set of black lounge pants and was currently toweling his hair dry. The blond tresses sat across his forehead, darkened by the water. It gave him an altogether stormier look, setting off his blue-grey eyes and white-blond stubble along his chin. Hermione had never seen Malfoy so unkempt; it was _sexy._

"Well?" he asked expectantly. "Is there something I can help you with, Granger? Are you out selling dragon-scout cookies?"

"What?" she asked in a daze.

"What's the reason for your _visit_?"

"Oh." She blinked. Yes, her business here...what was it? Oh! Yes. She remembered now. "I've come to knock some sense into you."

The drunken Malfoy snorted a laugh. "S'that so?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She didn't enjoy being laughed at. She marched directly up to him, swatted him on the back of his head with her palm, and stepped back a meter or so. "That's so!"

Draco's eyebrows creased together, and he lazily reached to the back of his head, rubbing it gingerly. "Merlin, Granger. No need to be so literal."

"Well, it seems to be the only thing that works on you!" she said with an air of diligence. "So…" Oh, goodness. Was that a delicious V at the juncture of his hips? Focus! "So you're going to sober up, march your bum over to Malfoy Manor, and you're going to sort this out with Astoria, one way or another!"

Draco rolled his eyes, half smirking as he stumbled back and leaned against the wall. "That so?" He all out laughed at her. "And who's gonna make me?"

"I am."

" _Why_?" He raised a curious eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest. "What's it to you, Hermione? Why should you care what goes on between Astoria and I?"

"Because…because it's my fault you two are in this mess!" she shouted, feeling all of her frustrations spill out of her at once. The filter between her brain and mouth had taken a much needed break. If there was a sign where the filter was supposed to be, it would have read, 'Out on holiday. Will return when guilt is gone.' Hermione stomped her foot. "I outed Daphne's secret to everyone at the luncheon when it wasn't my place! If I hadn't done that, perhaps Astoria wouldn't have kissed Ron, and you wouldn't be _here_ , wasting time when you should be _there_ either working out your problems or ending things like a _man_ would instead of a child hiding behind a bottle." She gestured to the floating bottle in the tub.

Hermione knew her words had struck a chord, because Draco's eyes turned to slits, and he took one wobbling, menacing step toward her. "I am _not_ a child."

"Funny, you have an interesting way of showing it," she taunted.

"Why are you _really_ here, Hermione?" he said, conviction in his tone. "Because I'm pretty sure it (hiccup) sure as Hell isn't to encourage me to work it out with Astoria."

"And why wouldn't it be?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips.

"Do I really need to spell it out for you?"

"By all means," she played dumb as she pursed her lips.

Draco took another step forward, and another. The closer he got, the more Hermione's heart raced inside her ribcage. When he was little more than inches away, his eyes ghosted down her hair, her eyes, her nose, to her lips. Flexing his hands at his side, he paused a considerable moment before, nearly defeated, he sighed and hung his head. "What are you _really_ doing here, Hermione?"

She thought about his question, really giving it a ponder, before she answered. "I suppose...I was worried about you."

" _Why_?"

"Why shouldn't I be? We're friends, aren't we?"

His head cocked up at that, and their eyes met. His seemed to search hers for something, but she wasn't sure what he was trying to find. "I'm fine," he muttered, giving a nonchalant shrug. "Go home."

"No." She reached out and grabbed his wrist. The moment their skin touched, it was like an electric bolt straight to her heart. "Draco, you should talk about it. You _need_ to talk about it."

"Not with you."

His words stung her like a slap to the face. "Why _not_ with me?" she asked, tightening her hold on him, even as he tried to pry himself away.

"Don't be daft. We both know why."

"No, I don't-"

"Really?" he interrupted her. "So you don't feel this, too?"

As his eyes raked down her form, she felt heat blossom over her skin. "Feel? Feel what?"

" _Hmph_. Deny it all you want, but we both know there's this - _thing -_ between us. Something like a flesh-eating disease, but it's a _thing_." He wrapped his hand around _her_ wrist, now, pulling her closer. "It's eating at you, eating at me, eating at our _dreams-_ " He seemed to read her expression, because he said, "Yes, Granger, I know all about those sexy dreams you've been having of me." The alcohol loosened his tongue. "Ones involving whipped cream and making you a _meal_ …" His voice trailed off, and he wet his lips with his tongue. Hermione had never felt herself become aroused so quickly; her knickers were soaked.

"H-How do you know about those?" she whispered.

Draco smirked. "You moan in your sleep, Hermione." One hand came up, the one that wasn't holding onto her wrist for dear life, and he trailed his fingers down her jaw at an agonizingly slow pace. "And I can't even deny I dream about you, too. It's sickening, really." Hermione felt her eyes flutter shut, but her vision had already unfocused by now. It took everything in her not to crumble to her knees.

"You dream about me?" she heard herself ask. Her voice sounded far off.

"All the bloody time," he said, his lips against her cheek now. "I hate it. And I hate you. I can't get you out of my head. Every time I try, I just keep slipping back into old habits, and there you are." There was a long pause, followed by a seriousness in his tone. "So you see, I _can't_ go back to Astoria. Not until I get you _out of my system._ "

It was everything Hermione had wanted to hear, and yet, as he said it, she felt awful. Just awful. "Draco...I really think you should talk to-"

"Shh," he commanded, and she fell silent once more. "Why are you _here_ , Hermione?" His lips were dangerously close now. So close she could feel his stubble brush against her face. He sounded desperate for an answer.

"Because I was worried about you."

"Worried? About me? Doubtful."

"It's true-" She turned her head to face him head on, forgetting momentarily where his mouth was. Their lips brushed against each other's for only a second, but it was enough for her breath to hitch and his to exhale. The next moment, their lips were together again, but firmer, deliberate. Hermione found herself being pulled against him, one of his hands curling around her waist while the other glided down her neck with a delicate touch.

Hermione gasped against his mouth - they were _kissing._ Truly _kissing_ , and she didn't know if she could function long enough to form a coherent sentence to tell him how wrong this was. But oh, he tasted lovely, even with the cinnamon after-taste of the firewhiskey. He tasted of delight, and sin, and intelligence -things that one would normally find intangible but now were very much real along the palate of his tongue.

Briefly, she wondered how much of this was him and how much of it was the alcohol. The guilt. The rebound. It was with this thought that she managed to pull away and take a step back, meeting him eye to eye. "I...you should talk to Astoria."

Quickly, before she could find herself lost in his eyes again, she backed away, trying not to take in the discontented expression on his face. She left just as abruptly as she had entered, taking with her a mixed sense of elation and terror.

What the Hell had just happened?

* * *

**Please leave me your thoughts!**   
**A.**


	20. Andante

 

****

**Hey, all! Thanks for tuning in! Can I just gasp at the 800+ reviews this story has received thus far (on fanfiction net)? Oh my goodness! Thank you!**

**Get ready for all of the feels these next few chapters. They're outlined and ready to be written, so just...get ready. Omg, all the Dramione to happen, and I hope I give it to you in a realistic way. That's my goal for this fic. A realistic approach to falling in love and whatnot.**

**As always, LightofEvolution and LondonsLegend are my rocks with this fic. They brainstormed with me all morning about the upcoming chapters, and can I just say how excited I am for you to read the next one? SO EXCITED! Of course, beta love to LondonsLegend. Alpha loves to both, though I'm still not convinced that I like the term...**

**~A.**

**Oh, PS: Did I mention we did it!? Tango took first place in the Spring 2017 Dramione Awards for "Best Romance" ! Thank you to everyone who voted! It means the world to me.**

* * *

**Andante:** **MUSIC**

**adjective & adverb**

**1.**

**(Especially as a direction) in a moderately slow tempo.**

* * *

**(scene cont.)**

* * *

There it was—the underlining problem separating Draco from his obligations. He'd kissed Hermione Granger, and worse? He liked it. More than liked it, in fact. He loved it. Her mouth had felt like a perfect fit against his own, and she'd tasted of spearmint—smelled of fresh ink and starlight. Or, at least, he imagined it was starlight, because he could almost see it behind his eyelids the moment their lips touched. She was intoxicating, breathtaking, and completely, utterly _not his._ Not even remotely.

And the final nail in his perpetual coffin? _He_ was the taken one—not emotionally, but physically. He'd yet to break it off with Astoria officially, and here he was, snogging it up with someone other than his betrothed.

"Hermione," he whispered, but she was already gone out the bathroom door. Something inside of Draco snapped, and he lurched forward, yanking the door open and tearing down the hall. "Hermione!"

He found her retreating down the staircase, heading toward the thick, French doors that would allow her to cross the border into Apparation territory. Once that happened, she'd be gone, and he'd be destroyed.

" _Granger_!" he shouted firmly, his hand gripping the top of the banister. Her arm was outstretched to one of the doors, but she paused, turning around to face him. There was a moment of quiet tension between them before Draco realized he might actually want to _speak._ "...Don't go."

"I've already told you," she said, "you need to talk to Astoria."

"I will," he agreed at once.

She seemed to consider his words, but her hand stayed on the doorknob. "Will you?"

"I said I _will_ ," he nearly growled, frustrated. "What more do you want from me?"

Something in her eyes betrayed her next set of words. "Nothing." Her arm shook - the one extended toward the door. "You shouldn't have-"

"I know."

"I know what Astoria did with Ron was awful, but-"

"I know, Granger-"

" _Do_ you?" she snapped. "I will _not_ be some...some _pawn_!" Her eyes cut deep into his soul.

"Is that what you think you are?" he asked, utterly flabbergasted. He wished he could sober up quicker, but this wasn't his home, and freshly brewed sobering-elixirs weren't at his disposal. His fingers clung to the banister for dear life, and he knew he couldn't dare attempt a walk down these steps without falling flat on his face. Admitting defeat, he wobbled down to sit his arse at the top of the staircase and peer down at her.

"Wasn't that what that was?" Her voice held so much doubt - nearly as much as the doubt he felt about how this talk could possibly end on a good note.

"If I fancied a _rebound shag,_ don't you think I could have done it with someone less...prude?"

" _Prude_?"

"Difficult."

" _Difficult?"_

"I'm sorry, did my lips on yours produce a stunningly complex repeating-hex? Or does the greatest witch of her age have an issue forming her own thoughts?"

It wasn't the thing to say, and yet it was. Hermione's hand retracted back down to her side, and she spun on her heels, marching all the way to the bottom of the stairs. "For your information, you would _never_ get a rebound shag from me, Draco Malfoy."

Despite himself, he smirked. "Don't I know it…"

"Oh...go fall in a tub of flobberworms!"

Rubbing the side of his stubbled cheek, Draco all out laughed. "Is that what you think passes for an insult?"

"I'm trying to control myself from telling you where you can shove it."

"By all means, don't repress yourself."

"Get bent!"

"That's more like it!"

He relished in the way Hermione tapped her foot repeatedly, trying so hard to contain herself before she finally threw her hands up in the air as she rolled her eyes. "This, obviously, is getting us nowhere. - Why did you kiss me?"

Draco, still highly intoxicated, blurted out, "Because I felt like it." It was harder to admit he thought her pretty, vivacious, and all around enjoyable.

"You _felt_ like it? How old are you? Five?"

My, but she had a mouth, didn't she? "I dunno why," he whispered, his head swimming. "Could we talk about this when I'm...when I'm sober?"

"That's it, isn't it? You kissed me because you're drunk."

"No."

"No?"

"I said bloody no, Hermione."

"Then why? And because you 'felt like it' isn't an answer!"

"I like you, alright?" He threw her a scathing look as he tossed his hands up in the air. "Because I think you're smart, and funny, and witty, and you don't fucking judge me for the stupid shit I do. Well, I mean, you do, but you don't _look down on me_ for it! And you," he took a moment to burp, but discretely (he was drunk, but he wasn't a Neanderthal), "make me feel like I'm _worth_ something."

"Says the man who is worth more than five times his weight in gold."

"Money isn't everything, Granger. You, of all people, know that." He stared at her like she was the only one worth staring at in the world. "You see past my money and my status, and you see me for the obnoxious, handsome-"

"-Pretentious-"

"-Man I am. And I see you."

There was a pause where they both considered his words. Hermione tapped her foot nervously, eyeing the door. "Even if you weren't drunk," she began, "and even if I believed you, which I don't…"

"Astoria," he finished.

Hermione nodded. "Yes."

"I'll talk to her."

"See that you do."

"And after I do," he tried, "I think we should talk, too." He added quickly, "We shouldn't end this on a sour note."

"A sour note. Is that what you call kissing me? Sour?"

"I think I'd call it rather delightful, actually."

A flare of pink scattered up her neck and settled into her cheeks as Hermione backed away from the staircase. "I'll see you around, Draco. Do be careful on the stairs?" And with that, she waved softly and headed back to the door, this time gone for good. It took everything in Draco not to crawl back into bed and sleep the day away, but Hermione's words hung gently around his psyche, ushering him to get on with his day. He had lots to do.

* * *

 **Stage left: Hermione Granger**  
**Setting: Her bathroom, twenty minutes later**

* * *

Hermione's emotions were all over the place when she arrived back home and took a look at herself in the bathroom mirror. She splashed water on her face, hoping it might have some effect, but her eyebrows seemed to be sewn together in a permanent crease on her forehead. "Damn it, Hermione. Get it together." She slapped her cheeks, checked her pulse, did a few awkward jumping jacks around the bathroom, all to burn off the adrenaline in her system, but none of it worked. She was as hyped up as humanly possible, and it had all been because of a damned _kiss._

 _He_ was _a good kisser, though, I'll give him that_. Wait, what was she thinking? She slapped her cheek again for good measure and scrambled for her cell-phone in the next room. Her fingers pressed the buttons with confidence. Two rings, and he answered. "Harry!"

"Hey, Hermione. Everything alright?"

"Is Ginny with you?"

"Er, yeah, I was about to head into work, but she's right here. Anything wrong? Do you wanna talk about it?" _You know, with_ me? She could picture the words in his head perfectly.

"Do you want to hear anything about Draco Malfoy?" she asked, knowing what his reaction would be.

"Gin, the phone's for you. - We can talk about it later, right Hermione?"

Smiling in knowing, she nodded, even though he couldn't see on the other end. "Yes, Harry. Later, then."

There was a scrambling of sound, and then Ginny's voice was ready for action. "What have you stepped in this time?"

"Can you come over?"

"That bad hmm? I'll be over there in a pinch."

"Thanks," Hermione sighed. "Oh, and Gin? Don't forget a bottle of wine."

Ginny didn't miss a beat. "Red or white?"

* * *

 **Center Stage: Draco and Astoria**  
**Setting: Greengrass Estate, Astoria's bedroom**

* * *

There were already newspapers piled up on the edge of the bed waiting for him when Draco arrived at the Greengrass Estate and walked into Astoria's bedroom in search of her. Mister and Missus Greengrass were away on travel, but the floo was always welcome to Draco to use, and so he had. He could hear Astoria sniffling, but he found no trace of her. Glancing over at the newspapers, he picked them up and noticed the dates were for all the days he'd tucked himself away. The earliest headline read: ' _Could Zabini Industries have a new heir? Daphne Zabini spotted with possible morning sickness in Hogsmeade!_ ' Draco scoffed, turning his attention to the second day. ' _Astoria Greengrass spotted without engagement ring! Is the Wizarding World's favorite couple no more?_ ' The third headline was a photographer snapping a quick picture of Hermione and Weasley outside of Flourish and Blotts, along with mild speculation. Honestly, didn't the papers have anything better to report on these days?

The final paper, today's headline, read, 'Retraction: Hermione Granger confirms her ties to War-Hero Ronald Weasley are strictly platonic.'

'Hmph,' he thought. 'Figures she'd set the record straight.'

More sobbing filled his ears, and Draco followed the crying all the way to the walk-in closet. Gently, he turned the handle and discovered Astoria, surrounded by hundreds of scarves. Now, hundreds might have been an exaggeration, but only by a few; Astoria sat cross legged on the floor in her bathrobe. Her nose was red and runny, her eyes were puffy and pink, and her lower lip kept quivering as she picked up scarf after scarf, observing it before tossing it some way or another. She hardly took notice of Draco until he rapped his knuckles on the door.

Quickly, her eyes darted to him, and she looked somewhat like a thestral caught in carriage lights. "D-Draco?"

Draco wasn't entirely sure what to say, so he simply nodded, stepped inside, closed the door, and sat on the floor with her amongst the scarves.

Astoria sniffled. "I can't find my yellow one. You know, the one my grandmother knitted for Christmas last year? I've looked everywhere, but I can't seem to find…" She tossed a few scarves over each other, sifting through them. "I just bought this yellow skirt, you see, and it's windy outside...if I can't find the scarf…" Her eyes were distant - lost. She didn't look like she had a clue what she was doing. "I can't find it, Draco, and if I can't find it-"

"-Tori," Draco began, but he was cut off.

"I _need_ to find this scarf," she insisted, tears streaming down her cheeks. "It's very important I do."

Understanding that this need wasn't something that actually had to do with a scarf, Draco nodded and began trailing his eyes around the room. They came to rest right under her left foot. "Right there," he pointed out. Astoria's eyes followed, and she reached underneath herself and pulled out the scarf from under her. A slow, quiet smile spread across her face.

"There it is," she whispered, patting it. "I thought I'd lost it." She glanced around at all of the scattered scarves. "Damn it."

"That's what magic is for," he offered, reaching inside his blazer for his wand. Astoria shook her head, and he paused. "Or not?"

"I don't want magic right now," she stated simply. Her eyes narrowed. "Where have you been?" There was less anger and more hurt in her tone, causing Draco to flush under his collar. He didn't like making women cry.

"I needed time…" he answered, scooting closer to her and reaching out to grab her hands and rub his thumbs across her palms. "To think."

Astoria remained quiet for a time, letting him soothe her. "And?" she asked finally. "Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Think."

Slowly, Draco nodded. He'd done a lot of _not thinking_ , too. Most of his thinking had actually been done on the way to find her this morning. He knew there was nothing he could say that could justify the kiss between himself and Hermione this morning. Telling Astoria now would do nothing but rub salt in a much deeper wound than just surface kisses. "I did." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "I should have talked this over with you sooner."

Astoria snorted. "That's a vast understatement, Draco."

"I know."

"What I did - kissing Ronald-"

"It's fine," he lied. Hearing her use Weasley's first name did jealous, grinding things to his insides. Then he admitted the truth. "Well, it's not fine, but...I'm over it. Sort of."

Astoria blinked at him. "What does that even _mean_?"

An airy laugh escaped his throat as he met her eye-to-eye. "Honestly? I'm not even sure of that myself. But I know I can't hold it against you. Not really." Not after he'd been secretly pining over a woman that wasn't his. Not after pushing Astoria away at every possible turn. "We, obviously, have...some issues."

"Another vast understatement," whispered Astoria.

"Kissing Weasley...did you like it?" he asked. The tips of his ears burned, but he refused to give into that jealousy which called to him deep within his spirit. Slytherins were notorious for secretly not wanting to share, and often they would bottle it up until it was too late. Draco was no exception, however, he knew he had no place to water this seed of jealousy; not when he was at fault for it all.

"What kind of question is that?" she snapped.

"Answer the damn question."

"I...no."

"You're lying."

"If this is your way to an apology, you're heading in the wrong direction."

"Who said I was here to apologize?"

"Well, aren't you?"

They both glared at one another. Draco could feel his anger boiling, and he released a heavy sigh, trying to ease it. He rubbed his eyes with shaky hands and chewed on the inside of his cheek, pensive. Then, he set his sights on her again, this time with a clear head. "Yes…" he admitted. "I am."

A minute dragged by that turned into two. Astoria finally broke down. "Well?"

"It isn't exactly _easy_ , Astoria. Merlin - you want an apology? Fine, here it is. I'm _sorry_ for not wanting to be babied. I'm _sorry_ for not knowing what the bloody difference is between eggshell and ivory. I'm _sorry_ I don't like to open up, or that I kept secrets - which weren't mine to tell, by the way - or that I love you but I'm not sure…" His voice died away, as did his courage. It extinguished like a candle, leaving him feeling cold and helpless.

"Say it," she whispered.

"I can't."

"You can't, or you won't?"

"I don't know _what_ I feel, Astoria. Alright? I don't know if this love between us is healthy or completely insane. And I don't know what kind of love it is."

"...I liked it," Astoria admitted. "The kiss. It was...nice. Like there weren't any burdens or responsibilities. I could just... _kiss_. And be kissed. If that makes any sense."

Draco nodded. He knew the feeling exactly. "So...where do we go from here?"

"I'm not sure."

"That makes two of us." He smirked, trying to lighten the mood. Astoria gradually let a soft smile form on her face.

"Obviously, we love each other," she said. "I don't think the kind of love we share is so easily snuffed out. But maybe...maybe we need to take time to realize what kind of love that is, exactly. And if it's the marrying kind."

Almost immediately, Draco's shoulders felt lighter. He couldn't explain it, but it was euphoric and energizing. A part of him felt horrible for feeling this way, but the other parts of him were already contemplating what the next steps were. "A break."

"A break."

It sounded too good to be true. "I'm sorry, Tori. I never meant to hurt you. I should have told you about Daphne and the baby, I just...I guess I got caught up in my friendships. I forgot we were supposed to be partners in this."

"And maybe the reason you don't see us that way is why this break will be good for us," she said quietly, sniffling so loud Draco was sure she might choke on her phlegm. He offered out one of her scarves, and Astoria shot him a disapproving glare in return.

"What?" he smirked. "It's ugly."

She pondered the scarf, took it, and shrugged. "I suppose it is." She blew her nose into it, and they both laughed.

"Gross."

"What? You're the one who told me to do it!"

"I didn't actually think you would."

"Bugger off, Draco."

She tossed the scarf at him, and Draco threw the contaminated thing across the closet, making gagging sounds in the back of his throat. This sort of friendship was what made him love Astoria in the first place, but the thought of walking down the aisle...it did nothing but make his stomach turn. He needed to find out what that meant.

"Right...what do we tell the press?" asked Astoria. "I'm sure you haven't missed the latest headlines anticipating our impending doom?" She dabbed at her eyes with another scarf.

"We tell them nothing out of the ordinary until we know for sure," he answered, clenching and unclenching his fists as he thought. "We assure them that our families are still going strong, and that we're still a force to be reckoned with. Whether that ends in marriage or not...well, that will be on our terms, and when we're sure."

"That's...very mature of you, Draco."

"What?" He raised a cool eyebrow. "I can't be mature?"

"Not often."

"I'd tell you to bugger off, but it isn't mature."

Astoria giggled mildly into her sleeve. "Alright. Let's work on our friendship, then, and go from there."

"Right. Sounds like a plan."

The two exchanged careful smiles, and a piece of Draco's heart dislodged when he caught the still pained glint in her eyes. He wondered if he wore the same expression and what it all meant. All he knew was that the relationship was over, for now, and that brought up thoughts of Hermione to the forefront of his mind. Was Astoria thinking of Weasley? Or had that kiss been fleeting? He couldn't exactly say the same about his own...it still grabbed him tight around the middle and refused to let go.

That, he surmised, was the next and most important thing on his list. He couldn't press on one way or another with Astoria until he figured out what his feeling for Hermione were and why they were so strong. He needed to know all of the variables before he could make an educated guess as to why his stomach flipped at the thought of her and why her eyes made his insides melt like chocolate frogs on hot pavement.

* * *

 **Next time, what is a confused Draco Malfoy to do? Try to show up** at **Hermione's doorstep, of course! But will it work? Find out soon.**  
**#TangoTuesday**  
**~A.**


	21. Chemistry

****

 

**I** **t's 8:51 PM on #TangoTuesday when I write this, and I want to say -whew, just made it under the wire! This chapter took a week in the making, and I couldn't have done it without my awesome betas pushing me through it, talking me through the slight negativity at the way Draco has been viewed, and helping me achieve my goals of getting my words across. There are some great lines and thoughts from both LondonsLegend and LightofEvolution in here, so take a bow ladies! This chapter is dedicated to you!**

* * *

**"Do I have to spell it out for you**   
**or scream it in your face?**   
**The chemistry between us**   
**could destroy this place."**

**"Staplegunned" by The Spill Canvas**

* * *

**Stage Left: Draco and Blaise**   
**Setting: The Zabini Summer Home**

* * *

"That's a tough break there, mate," said Blaise between bites of chocolate-covered strawberries out on the deck of his home overlooking a ridiculous display of various shrubbery trimmed to resemble centaurs, gnomes, and fairies. Draco always thought the front yard leading up to the estate was a bit pretentious, and that was coming from someone who grew up with peacocks to meet him at the front gate. He watched as his friend paired the strawberries with a glass of sangria - not even an expensive kind. Just some made by squibs in Peru, as if _Peru_ was where one got the finest things. _Hmph_. "How did Astoria take it?"

"She's the one who suggested it," replied Draco, taking a careful sip of firewhiskey from his tumbler glass. He much prefered a good scotch, but nothing in Blaise's inventory had been deemed worthy.

"No kidding?" Blaise raised both of his eyebrows together.

"I figured you would have heard, seeing as how you're married to her sister."

"Daphne took Astoria out for a shopping spree. I won't hear the gossip until they've returned."

"There's nothing to _gossip_ _about_ ," Draco insisted, waving his hand about. "We're on good terms."

"That's a pretty way of saying you haven't a clue what the Hell is going on."

He hated the way his friend knew him so well. "Indeed, I don't. There. That what you wanted to hear?"

"Amongst other things."

"Like?" Draco bit down on the word venomously. His patience was really wearing thin. Every few seconds, he found his foot tapping so hard against the leg of the table that it shook the drinks on top. Finally, he crossed one leg over the other to prevent further fidgeting. "Oh, _I_ know. Let's talk about how you and Daphne gave my hideaway location to Hermione _sodding_ Granger." His eyes grew dark and foreboding.

Blaise squirmed in his seat, reaching up to unhook the top button of his shirt. "Look, if anything I did you a bloody _favor_."

"A favor is it?"

"Yeah!" The Zabini heir nodded in defence. "Someone had to dig you out of your depressed hole you'd burrowed into. Neither myself, nor Daphne, could get you out of it. And if there's one thing Granger is good at, it's being stubborn."

"Understatement of the century," Draco muttered. "It still doesn't give you the right-"

"-Whoa, now. Slow your roll there, Bertie Botts." Blaise took a deep pull from his wine, set the glass down on the table, and pointed an accusing finger in Draco's direction. "I have _every_ right to kick some sense into my best friend's arse. Me using Granger to do that? Well, that's just good business."

"Slytherin."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. Where's your house pride?"

"Maybe in the gutter along with our friendship?" offered Draco with a quirk of an eyebrow.

Blaise feigned forlornness, casting his hand dramatically over his forehead and tilting his head back. "Oh, no! The horror! The sheer horror! Drakie, come ba-" The next moment, he wore the contents of Draco's firewhiskey over his face. As it dripped comically down his face, Blaise grimaced and shouted, "Aye! What's that about?"

"It's about you shutting the Hell up and never calling me Drakie again," Draco smirked, glancing into his empty glass. "Fetch me some more whiskey, would you?"

"I'm not your house elf, you ungrateful knob," Blaise grumbled, retrieving his wand from his robes pocket and drying up the liquor from his face and shirt. "Alright, you leave me no choice. I'm breaking out the big curses."

"Ooh, I'm so scared," Draco mocked, crossing his arms.

"So now that things are on hiatus with Astoria, what does that mean for you and Granger?"

The contents of Draco's stomach lurched upwards, and he tasted bile in his throat the next moment. Quickly, he stomached it back down again before narrowing his eyes and giving his friend an incredulous glare. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know damn well what it means."

"You want more whiskey tossed in your face?"

"I want to know why you haven't called off the entire wedding," Blaise interjected, clearly serious this time. There was a sternness in his eyes that made Draco uneasy, like he was staring at a parent instead of a friend. Apparently, Blaise was practicing his fatherhood on the best, most guilt-ridden subject at his disposal: Draco. "It's obvious you two are having problems."

"And you think Hermione is the source of it?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

Dishing it back, Draco burrowed further into his chair and leaned back in a clearly unwelcoming position. He thought about the kiss, amongst other things, and what it all meant. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'll have you know, Granger has nothing to do with it."

"Nothing?"

"...Not the majority, at least. - Has Daphne told you I caught Astoria locking lips with fucking Weasley in Madam Puddifoots?"

"She might have mentioned it, yeah…but you're not the kind to just walk away from that sort of thing, Draco. The fact Weasley didn't need a medical floo-in to Mungo's says plenty about your state of mind."

"You think I liked seeing her kissing another man?"

"I think you were relieved," Blaise told him, perfectly calm and collected. "I think you were looking for an excuse to walk."

"Well, it certainly wasn't because of _Hermione._ " Draco remained quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He suddenly wished he hadn't thrown his drink all over Blaise; he could surely use a good swig of something to calm his nerves. Irritated, he produced his wand and _accio'd_ the bottle of firewhiskey from the private bar near the door, popping off the stopper and taking a thick swig without caring if it was impolite. It was just him and Blaise, after all. "Honestly, I don't know where my thoughts are at right now - which is why a break sounds best. I don't want to completely turn my back on Astoria. She was there for me, you know. Even when the rest of you weren't."

His words stung Blaise; he could see it in his friend's eyes, but Blaise remained stoic, saying, "I'll admit, it was hard for some of us to come around after the War. Staying neutral was hard enough…"

"But being seen with an accused Death Eater was too much for your precious reputation?" Draco spat, instantly regretting it. He added quickly, upon seeing Blaise's distraught face, "I mean…" He gritted his teeth. "I know, now you're here for me. But Astoria was there from the beginning. I can't just throw her away like that until I know if…" The words hung on his tongue.

"If?" Blaise asked. "If Granger's sweet tits are worth it?"

"Fuck no." Now he was _mad._ "If I love her enough to marry her, or if I'm getting cold feet, or if my feelings for Granger are real-" he snapped his mouth shut, face as red as a ruby.

"And there it is," Blaise nodded. "The kneazle's finally out of the bag."

"It's not like that," Draco insisted, anger vibrating in every bone. "Regardless of how I _might_ have an attraction toward Hermione, it has nothing to do with the problems between myself and Astoria. The only thing I can blame on Hermione is possibly bringing it to light…" He leaned his elbows on the table and set his face in his hands, coming down from his frustrated high. "I just need time to think. Clear my head. And so does Astoria, from what I gather. Kissing a fucking Weasley? She must be desperate."

"Yeah, sure, because it couldn't possibly be _you_ driving her toward another man," Blaise huffed under his breath loud enough for Draco to hear.

"I get it, alright, Blaise?" Draco sighed. "I do. I'm a fucking twat, I don't open up to Astoria, and I clearly have issues talking about my issues." _Except with Hermione…_

It then dawned on him; perhaps the answer to his problems might be to confide in someone who didn't have ties with his ex. Not that Blaise wasn't a great counterpart, but he seemed unfairly biased, probably because of his marriage to Daphne. Sadly, the first person that came to mind was Hermione, and until he figured out what the bloody Hell was going on with his emotions, he wasn't going to put her in a position like that.

"I need to get my shit together," he muttered.

Still, he needed to talk to Hermione about the kiss - let her know he wasn't 'rebounding' or performing some desperate, drunk act out of retaliation. He'd kissed her because it _felt_ right. Because she'd come to check on him, because she refused to back down, even when he was at his worst. He'd kissed her because even Astoria paled in comparison to the compassion, the wit, the no-nonsense attitude that flowed through Hermione.

He had to let her know, one way or another, what she meant to him. It might be the only way to start off with a clean slate, get his head on straight, and figure out which bloody direction he planned to take his life.

* * *

**Stage Right: Hermione and Ginny**   
**Setting: Hermione's year-round flat, the kitchen**

* * *

"Talk to me," said Ginny, watching Hermione swig down her second glass of wine for the evening. "And eat some crisps. Please." She pushed the bowl toward her friend.

Hermione finished her wine, set the glass on the table, and sighed. "You still haven't told me your thoughts."

"Well, I'm waiting for the right moment," said Ginny.

"This seems like an opportunity…"

"So, Malfoy kissed you. Like, full blown, on the lips _kissed_ you. And he's still with Astoria, or…?"

"I don't know!" Hermione exclaimed, burying her face in her hands. "I don't know, Gin. And what's worse, I know that _knowing_ will only drive me insane."

"You're nobody's side piece, Hermione."

"I know," she replied, thoroughly discouraged. "I told him as much."

"Well, good! Because I dare that man to show up and try something. The _nerve_ of that arrogant tosser. Who does he think he is? He's _engaged_ , for Morgana's sake!" Ginny sipped on her wine before adding, "I mean that with no offence toward you, obviously. You're a catch, and any man can see that. It's only that Malfoy _isn't_ a man, but a two-timing, arrogant, selfish-"

"We get it," Hermione interjected, put off from hearing her friend insult the man. She, after all, did _not_ feel the same way. "But remember, he _did_ catch Astoria snogging it up with Ron in the bathroom."

"Merlin only knows why she would want to kiss Ron," Ginny rolled her eyes. "Again, no offence. I just don't think my brother would be a good kisser. - And don't answer that either way, Hermione. I don't want to know." She shook her finger in Hermione's direction. "So, if he decides he wants to show up for a second course…?"

"I should hear him out," Hermione said dutifully. "Hear what he has to say."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Well, you can do as you like, but from what you've told me, he's a two-timing prat, just the same as Astoria is a two-timing bint."

"Gin!" Hermione gasped. "That is _not_ nice."

"Nice? I've never claimed to be. The truth isn't always _nice_ , hun. And until Malfoy figures out what he wants, you don't need to be mixed up in all of it."

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek, thoughtful. Maybe Ginny was right. Maybe the best approach to all of this was to do nothing at all. "Pour me another glass, Ginny. I'm going to need it."

* * *

**Center Stage: Hermione and a visitor**   
**Setting: Hermione's front doorstep**

* * *

When the knock came at Hermione's door at ten in the morning the next day, she wasn't prepared for who was on the other side. She had a guess as to who, sure, but her mind still wasn't ready for the emotional toll it would take on her. As the door pried open and she got a look at him in his casual vest and slacks combo, she couldn't help but salivate (just a little) in appreciation. No matter how confused she felt about him, there was no doubt in her mind about her physical attraction to the man. Everything, from his steel-grey eyes to his pianist fingers to the dip in his upper lip was perfection. How one man could look so entirely put together and yet disoriented was beyond her, but there he stood, on her welcome mat, his eyes glistening with determination.

"Hermione, I-"

 _Wham!_ She shut the door on his face. From the safety of her home, she said, loud enough so he could hear her, "I'm not in the mood to talk, Draco!" Sure, she'd gotten his owl this morning asking if he could floo in, so she'd shut the network off and doused the flames. The Daily Prophet, sitting on the edge of her mantle, confirmed exactly why she wanted no part of Draco Malfoy's arrival today - even if it was just to chat.

"If I could have a moment-" he said from the other side of the door, "a chance to explain-"

The door came open again, and Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. She knew she didn't look pleased, and that's exactly what she wanted him to see. "There's nothing to explain. Off you pop. Shoo." She waved her hands at him.

"Sh-Shoo? Did you just _shoo_ me?" Draco nearly gasped, caught somewhere between a gaping mouth and a dumbfounded, arrogant expression.

Hermione nodded, puffing her chest out just a little in confidence. "...I did."

"Any particular reason?" he frowned, crossing his arms. "I thought we would talk about what's happened between us. I've spoken with Astoria-"

"I'm aware," she said evenly, cutting him off. "In fact, so is most of Britain." She marched over to the mantle, grabbed up her newspaper, and came right back over to where he stood, holding it out to him. "Congratulations on working things out. It seems I kicked your bum into high gear." The newspaper headline read, ' _Malfoy and Greengrass confirm: all is well_.'

Draco took it from her, albeit begrudgingly, his eyes glancing along the front page with a nearly distant complacency, and tossed it over his shoulder. "Since when do you believe everything in the papers?"

"That's littering," she told him, pointing to the news. "Pick it up."

"I will, once I'm given a suitable explanation as to why we can't talk."

"Um, _hello_. Does that paper not remind you _who you're betrothed to_?" Brushing past him, Hermione bent down, scooped up the paper, and rolled it up nervously. She glanced around her apartment hallway, searching for signs of life. "Seriously, Draco, how do you even know my address?"

"Do you think it's difficult for someone like _me_ , with all of my connections, to find out where someone lives?" he laughed, a smirk hanging from the side of his face.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, shoving the newspaper in his chest. "You should be with Astoria."

"If you listened for five seconds," he told her, "you'd know I came here to talk to you about that."

"What's there to discuss?" She stormed her way back to her door, crossing her arms as she stood at the threshold. "Clearly, you've figured out what you wanted. And…and I'm happy for you." It was a lie. It stung, and it made her feel entirely used. She hadn't wanted to be correct when she suggested he'd only kissed her because he was drunk, but really, what had she expected? Neither of them stayed sober around each other for very long. "Now, if you could please just go-" She swung the door to shut it, but he propped his dragon-hide shoe between the door jam, blocking it.

"Owwww..." he whimpered.

"Quit being such a baby," she said. "It's your own fault."

"As are a lot of things. Did you even read the letter I sent you this morning?"

"I skimmed it."

"Oh, great. She skimmed it," he muttered to himself before he rolled his eyes, keeping his foot firmly in place as he leaned forward and rested his cheek against the doorframe. "If you'd read it in its entirety, you would have seen the bit about Astoria and I calling for a break."

A break? Hermione blinked. "...What do you mean 'a break'?"

"I thought that bit was self-explanatory," he muttered. His eyes glistened hopefully at her.

"But the paper said-"

"Bollocks to the paper. We said that nonsense to shut them up while we figure things out." There was a shy way in which he spoke that made Hermione anxious - Malfoys weren't shy. Not by a longshot. "So will you speak with me?"

"We're speaking right now," she told him, her guard up.

"You know what I mean. _Inside?_ Out of the draft?"

"One: we're in a hallway," she said, gesturing around. "Two: I don't think that's a good idea."

Draco frowned. "Why not?"

Bitterness had its clutches tight on Hermione, choking the anger out of her. She knew she had no reason to be mad at him, but it still didn't take away from the fact that she was hurt by that headline. "Because you're still trying to figure things out with Astoria."

"Hermione, I'm trying to figure all of this out."

"What does that even _mean_?"

"It means Astoria and I aren't together. It means I'm over here making an arse out of myself trying to get you to let me into your _bloody_ flat," he growled, irritable.

She paused. "...But the paper says you're fine." Hermione set her shoulders straight, trying to come off as confident, even though, at the moment, she felt smaller than a church mouse. "So which is it? You can't have your cake and eat it, too."

"Cake? Who said anything about cake? I'm trying to talk to you, not take you to _bed_." He sighed. "Hermione...I'm just trying to figure all of this out."

"And this 'talk'? What would that be about?"

"Us."

"There isn't an us."

"Obviously, that's what I'm trying to figure out, amongst other things. If you'd just listen-"

"Then figure it out," she said, "and when you do, _then_ come knocking on my door. Because...well, because I won't be an afterthought." Before he could say another word, she gently pushed him back and shut the door, leaving a confused, and quite irritable, Draco Malfoy on the other side of it.

From the kitchen, she heard the sound of glasses clinking together and turned around to see Ginny, still in a set of borrowed pajamas from the night before, pulling out a bottle of champagne and some orange juice from the fridge. "Geez, Hermione. You sure know how to turn a man down, don't you?"

Hermione's muscled seized up, and for a brief moment, she remained completely still. Then, she expelled a heavy sigh and shuffled over to the kitchen counter. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Enough." Ginny grinned. "I'm proud of you. Way to stick to your morals, Hermione."

But even then, Hermione felt a tad guilty for not hearing him out properly. Still, waking up to the sight of the Daily Prophet's headline was enough to get her adrenaline pumping. She'd made the right call, she told herself, even when she felt she hadn't.

* * *

**Upstage Right: Hermione and full dance cast**   
**Setting: Dance Studio Uno**

* * *

The next day in dance class was one of the most awkward to date. Señor Diggle was back at it again, flouncing around as if he owned the place (well, Hermione supposed, he _did_ own the place). Even still, it worked her last nerve the way he wiggled his mustache and called out things such as, "¡ _Muy bien, señorita Weasley! Eres fabulosa_ with the foot work, truly!" Maybe it was because Hermione was doing such a lousy job dancing with Greg that a pang of jealousy hit her square in the chest. Or perhaps that had something to do with seeing Draco and Astoria dancing together across the room as if they _weren't_ broken up.

"No, no. _Cariño_ , what are you doing?" Señor Diggle stepped between Astoria and Draco. "¿ _Dónde está la pasión_?"

"Pardon?" asked Astoria.

"The passion! Have you hidden it inside your _sujetador_? Because it certainly isn't out for the world to see!" He snapped his fingers in Hermione's direction. " _Querida mía_ , come! You'll set the example."

"Oh, um," Hermione tucked her hair behind her ears. "No. Thank you, but no." She avoided looking Draco in the eyes.

"Nonsense. You two have wonderful _química_."

"I don't _care_ if we have wonderful chemistry," Hermione huffed, "I said no." She felt all eyes in the classroom drift in her direction as she exchanged embarrassed glances with Astoria. "Excuse me." Even though she knew it was completely illogical, she gathered her purse and slipped on her 'not dance appropriate' sneakers before setting off in the direction of the door. "I need a break."

The door slammed behind her, and the cold hallway had never been more welcoming. Hermione leaned against the door, expressing a large sigh in the process. That was, until the door opened again, shoving her forward and off balance. "Ah!" A firm hand reached out and grabbed her. Hermione's heart raced, thinking it might be Draco, but upon turning around, she discovered it was Greg Diggle. He wore a disheartened smile as he said, "Are you alright? I had no idea you were right there."

"I'm fine," she assured him, shaking her head.

"You sure looked like you were fine as you stormed out," he chided, setting her upright. "I get it. Really, I do. I'm sorry, my father is so oblivious. He has no clue about your history with Malfoy. I'm sure if he did, he would leave well enough alone and stop forcing you to dance together."

"Believe me, the tension between us has nothing to do with our past," she said.

"I just...are you alright, Hermione?" Greg's green eyes twinkled with sincere concern.

"I'm fine, Greg. I just need to be alone right now."

"Of course," Greg nodded. "I'll have a talk with my father about his brash behavior-"

"No!" she exclaimed. "No, that's quite alright. _I'll_ have a talk with him...when I'm calm." She smiled, thankful.

"As you wish." Greg reached over and brought her hand up to his lips to give it a gentle kiss at the same moment that Draco stepped out of the dance studio. There was an awkward moment - a sort of electrifying tension in the air, but Greg didn't appear bothered by it. He simply smiled warmly at Hermione and said, "One of these days, we'll get that second date." He shot her a small wink and left back into the studio.

Draco cleared his throat. "Er...are you-?"

"I'm fine," she said flatly, turning on her heel and rushing off at a brisk pace before she got lost in the sincerity of his eyes or the way her body hummed being next to him.

* * *

**Center Stage: Draco and Hermione**   
**Setting: Hermione's front door...again.**

* * *

Draco knew he shouldn't have been jealous. Hell, all of his rational thinking told him Hermione was _not_ his. Still, the moment he'd stepped outside the studio to check on Hermione and found her being comforted by _Diggle_ , he realized something: his feelings for Granger ran far deeper than he cared to admit.

So, when he showed up on her doorstep a second time, he was determined for her to hear him out. Hell or high water, rejection be damned, she was going to _listen_ , damn it.

_Knock, knock, knock._

The door pried open just a smidgen before slamming abruptly in his face.

"Hermione," he growled, knocking on it again. "Hermione, open the door." Silence. "Granger, if you don't open the _bloody_ door, I'm going to tell all of your neighbors about the that time in fourth year when I enlarged your teeth-"

The door swung open wide this time. Hermione stood proud in a lavender colored tank-top and a pair of the shortest shorts imaginable -the kind he saw girls wear around the grounds at Hogwarts while exercising, a bowl of chocolate-drizzled ice cream in her hands. He recognized the music playing in the background as the same song the Red Hat Society played the night they'd decided to take the two under their wing. Something about Lola... _Whatever Lola Wants_. That was it. Really, the entire scene felt like something out of one of his fantasies. Draco had to pinch himself on the leg to assure himself it was real.

" _What_ d'you want?" she snapped, spooning out a helping of ice cream and dipping it into her mouth. She swayed from side to side, giggled, and then became serious again.

"Are you _drunk_?" Draco asked, utterly perplexed.

"Maybe." Hermione licked the corner of her mouth to try to clean up the chocolate syrup. "Figures you'd show up now. Prime time to try to get me to bed."

" _Excuse_ me?"

"Well, that's just it, isn't it? We can't," _hiccup_ , "be around each other and be sober, can we?"

Rolling his eyes, Draco took the bowl of ice cream from her, deciding to have a bite himself. He had a Hell of a sweet tooth. As he ladled a bit of ice cream into his mouth, he commented, "I'm not here to try anything, Hermione."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're not?"

"No." Noticing a bit of chocolate syrup still resting at the corner of her lips, he reached over, swiped it up with his thumb and sucked it clean, not giving it two thoughts. It wasn't until he saw the blush crawl up Hermione's neck and face that he realized he'd done anything remotely sexual.

"Then...why are you here?" she asked, a bit more sober.

"Oh, you're going to let me speak this time? Brilliant." He handed her back her bowl of ice cream and rubbed his hands together. "It's awfully chilly in this hallway, you know."

"Says the man who just ate freezing cold ice cream. I think you'll manage," she quipped.

"Were you dancing in there?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Draco. Focus."

"Right." He puffed out his chest a little. "I'm here because I want you to know that...well, I'm sorry."

"That's a start. - For what?" she asked.

"For kissing you." He paused, thinking. "Well, not for _kissing_ you, just...the way I went about it. Being drunk off my arse...that's no way to share a first kiss."

"Or a last," she said quietly.

Draco sighed. "Hermione, I just...I just want to get to know you better. That's why I'm here."

"I'm not going to compete with Astoria. This break of yours isn't so you can decide who's the better candidate."

"Is that why you think we broke it off?" he asked, raising both of his eyebrows. "Gods, Hermione. Conceited much? Our breakup had less to do with you than an infusion of wormwood has to do with a niffler. It was a decision we made _together_ , on our own terms. I've got a lot of shit going on in my life right now besides romance. That night at the fountain...it really inspired me, you know? To take charge of my life. To _do_ something with it." He leaned against her doorframe and stared complacently down at her. " _You_ inspire me." Hermione gulped, flushing an even prettier shade of pink than before. "But," he leaned just a bit closer, his body pulsing with the need to be next to her, "if you forced me, right now, to make a choice in the matter, I think me being here on your doorstep says everything. Does it not?" Oh, that pretty magenta tint to her cheeks turned into an all out crimson. It was entertaining and adorable to watch her squirm.

"And...what about Astoria and Ron?" she asked, just above a whisper. "Aren't you worried? You know...that they'll…?"

"Astoria's a big girl," he assured her. "She can make her own choices. We both can."

"So...what you're saying is you want a friendship?" she asked.

"I think that would be a start," he smirked, finally getting somewhere. "What do you think?"

Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other, weighing her thoughts. She smiled at him and nodded. "I think that sounds doable."

"Great." Draco felt his heart kickstart in his chest again. "Lunch, then? Tomorrow? _Sober?_ I can owl you with the details."

"Lunch," she agreed, offering the bowl out to him. "Here. Take it. I shouldn't be eating sweets this late at night."

Draco happily took the bowl, shooting her a wink. "See you tomorrow, Granger."

* * *

**Hope this gave you your fix! Let the Dramione commence! As always, your thoughts would be lovely!**   
**~A.**


	22. When in Spain

****

 

**So, I am a dunce and forgot to give the AMAZING Sam Wallflower credit for perfecting my Spanish last chapter! So thank you, Iris! (hearts)**

**This first scene wouldn't have been possible without the suggestion by LondonsLegend, and there's a few goofy moments with George Weasley down in the chapter that were all the work of LightofEvolution. Alpha love to her, and Beta love to LondonsLegend.**

* * *

**"New beginnings are often disguised**   
**as painful endings"**   
**~Lao Tzu**

* * *

**Stage Right: Draco Malfoy**   
**Setting: Malfoy Manor, his bedroom, namely his bed...ladies. ;)**

* * *

Draco had tossed and turned for most of the night, too on edge to sleep. He got up when the sun met the horizon and stood at his window, watching the reds and golds glisten on the grounds of the Malfoy Manor. Waking up today, knowing that it was a fresh start, was one of the most invigorating things he'd felt in a long time. There were no obligations today; he didn't have to think about dance lessons or wedding plans. The only two things on his mind were: Astoria coming by this morning for something, and lunch plans with Hermione this afternoon. With a skip in his step, Draco marched to the bathroom, flipping the shower on with a flick of his wrist, ready to face the day.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, surprised by the lack of dark circles even though he'd hardly slept a wink. Obviously, he was in a far better mood than he thought. His face practically glowed with anticipation at what the day promised. He grabbed up his toothbrush, took it into the shower with him, and began to scrub at his teeth. The magical bristles suds immediately, filling his mouth with minty paste. Simultaneously he brushed his teeth and massaged his hair with shampoo, letting the bubbles tickle his scalp. If anyone could get a good gawk at him, they'd have thought he'd broken the Malfoy code entirely, forgoing his brooding nature for one of lighthearted eagerness. But he couldn't exactly _help_ it. There was something so freeing about waking up and being left to his own devices. Not even the thought of breaking the news to his mother that he was, in fact, _not_ going to marry at the present moment could deter him from his pleasant disposition.

Hell, he even had a good wank just because he could. And he didn't feel an ounce guilty that it was Hermione he thought about.

After his shower, he dressed in a casual pair of dress slacks and white button down with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, slipping on some socks but refusing to put on shoes yet as he carried them down the staircase and padded his way to the kitchen for a bite. His appetite, which had waned lately due to stress, found its way back, and he served himself some jelly on toast, some links of sausage, and a cup of coffee as black as his soul. Only when he was on his last link did Astoria find him, a wooden crate in her hands.

Draco's eyebrows shot up immediately: Astoria wore a light summer dress, showing off her delicate neckline and long legs. Her hair was cut just below her chin in a bob with matching bangs, accentuating her fine features. "Tori," Draco motioned to the nook in the corner of the kitchen and offered her a seat next to him. She walked over and placed the crate on top of the table, pulling out her own chair and taking a seat. There was one thing very new about her appearance; she no longer wore her engagement ring on her left hand.

"It's in the box," she said, as if reading his mind. "Along with a few things you've gotten me over the last few years."

"Oh. Er….I didn't know we were exchanging trinkets," he replied, somewhat confused and nearly offended. "These gifts were for you, Astoria, I don't want them back."

"Yes, well...I don't want them. Not right now." She held her head up with more confidence and poise than he'd seen her hold in a long time. "If we're truly to be separated, this, I think, is a good first step."

Draco nodded mildly, glancing into the box. There were a few letters he'd written her, a stuffed dragon he'd won her at a carnival, and a few glitzy pieces of jewelry, including her engagement ring, tied around the stuffed dragon's neck.

"So...this is it, is it?" he asked quietly, eyebrows knitting together.

"Tell me - it's been nearly a week since our separation. How do you feel?"

"Honestly?" he gulped, meeting her gaze. She nodded softly. "Relieved."

"Me too." Her eyes glistened with appreciation. "I think we've been so busy trying to make it as lovers, we forgot our friendship somewhere in the mix. And I'm not saying it doesn't hurt...because it does. But not for the reasons I thought it would." She brought out the dragon and kissed it on the nose. "I think I just thought this would feel worse, and I hate that."

"Believe me, the feeling's mutual."

"I'm done trying to impress everyone. It's why I cut my hair - there's going to be a few changes in my life. You were right about one thing: I cared far too much of what others thought of me."

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't guilty of it myself," he muttered. The box solidified what he knew to be true: things between them were _over._

"I don't want us to lose our friendship - I think that was what I valued most between us."

"So, you've made up your mind completely."

"Haven't you?"

He nodded. "It's just difficult admitting it out loud."

"I agree."

"And the press? What are we to tell them? Our family?"

Astoria smirked. "Sod them."

Draco's face broke out into a smirk of its own. "Yeah?"

"Yes! They can live in the dark for a moment longer. I, for one, don't feel like hearing our parents try to wrangle us back together when we haven't figured out what we want to do with this time apart. We will tell everyone on our own time."

"Reporters are going to realize you aren't wearing your ring."

Grinning, Astoria shrugged. "Oh, well. That's our business, isn't it? I'm getting rather tired of making our affairs everyone else's. Let them speculate." Draco didn't know who this Astoria was, but he rather enjoyed her company; she was far more a snake than the quiet mouse who feared stepping on anyone's toes. "So...what are your plans for the day?"

"Lunch."

"But you've just eaten breakfast."

"And that disqualifies me from lunch?" He debated on whether to tell her who his lunch plans were with. "Astoria...I feel like...damn it."

"Hmm?" She blinked innocently at him.

"What's it called? That nagging feeling in your chest you get when you feel compelled to tell the whole truth?"

"That's a _conscience_ , Draco."

"Ugh." He rolled his eyes. "Well, it's telling me to tell you...something…"

"About Miss Granger?"

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "How'd you-"

"It's quite obvious, isn't it?" Astoria rubbed her hands together as if she was freezing - but perhaps she was merely trying to keep herself busy. "And there's nothing to tell me. We aren't together." She stood from the table. "In fact, I'd rather not know at all, if that's alright...just...not right now."

Nodding, he replied, "Alright…"

"I've got to go." Astoria put on her best smile, the one reserved for concealing emotions. "I hope you find what you're looking for, Draco. We'll speak soon." _Clack, clack, clack_ went Astoria's heels as she took her leave, stepping through the threshold of the kitchen entry and into a new chapter of her life: one without Draco. Draco stared down at the box, a pang of nostalgia in his chest. He really did hope they'd talk soon - he could stomach a failed engagement, but he didn't want to lose her entirely. Call it selfishness, but her friendship still remained an important cog in his clockwork of life.

* * *

**Stage Left: Hermione Granger  
Setting: Her bedroom...men ;) Or ladies. No judging here.**

* * *

Hermione paced in the floor of her bedroom, staring down at three outfits, each with varying degrees of provocativeness. The first was a simple blue blouse and fitted black jeans. The second was a pencil skirt and spaghetti strapped camisole with gems sewn along the neckline. The third was one of her favorite babydoll dresses.

Just what did one wear to a lunch with Draco Malfoy?

Perhaps mixing the outfits would work? Nodding, she picked up her jeans and the camisole, retreating to the bathroom. She tried to tame her curls with a spell, but she should have known better; the bushy mane could not be contained, and it frizzed even more than usual in defiance. "Oh, honestly!" she exclaimed, pulling her shirt on over her head but finding it difficult because of the volume of her hair. Somehow she managed it and then shimmied into her jeans. Once they were buttoned, she took a good, hard look at herself in the mirror. Freckles dusted along the bridge of her nose, the same color as her irises. She had a natural glow to her cheeks from blushing while thinking about the blond and what this lunch meant.

 _Friends_ , she reminded herself. _This means friendship._

Oh, but who was she kidding? The closer the time approached, the more and more she felt like she was awaiting some sort of date. She was just about to give up on the camisole, thinking it too revealing, when there was a knock at the front door.

"Damn it," she grumbled, "No time." She picked up her wand off the bathroom counter and gave it a swish, widening the straps of her shirt to form sleeves at a three-quarter length. "Much better." She quickly slipped on her flats and dashed to the door, taking a few calming breaths before swinging it open.

Oh, Merlin, there he was.

Draco Malfoy stood in her doorway, casual and confident, as if he was made to always stand watch at her door. His grey eyes lit up the moment he caught sight of her, and he produced from behind him a small crystallized rose made entirely of hard candy. "I thought flowers might be a _bit_ much, but this might fall under the exception."

Hermione's cheeks filled quickly with a dark blush as she took the rose, smiling. It was so _thoughtful and adorable._ "Thank you."

"You're welcome." His eyes scanned her over. "You clean up nice."

"Hey." She poked him in the chest. "Eyes up here, Mister."

Draco smirked. "Are you ready to head out?"

Nodding, she shut the door behind her and locked it with a bit of magic, candy rose still in hand. "Where are we headed?"

"Do you trust me?"

"No."

"Well, then...that will make this all the more fun, won't it?" He shot her a wink before grabbing her arm and Disapparating them on the spot.

* * *

**Center Stage: Draco and Hermione  
Setting: ? ? ? (because three question marks means suspense!)**

* * *

"¿ _Hola, cómo estás? Dos_?"

" _Sí._ "

"Draco, where are we?" Hermione stared at the authentic Spanish tapestries and gorgeous waterfall in the center of a well-lit, upscale restaurant full of rich colors.

Leading them to follow the _maestro_ to a cozy corner booth, he replied, "Spain," as he ushered her into her seat.

" _Spain_?" she gasped.

Draco took a seat across from her, the largest smirk he could muster on his handsome face. "I thought it would be fun to see what _real_ Spanish food is like; we're fed so much bullshit by Señor Diggle on a daily basis." He pointed to something on the menu as soon as the server arrived, and the server nodded, scurrying away without so much as a word spoken.

"This is _not_ what I agreed to," she pouted. "Apparation at such a long distance is _highly_ dangerous, you know. You could have splinched us _both_."

"And yet, we're both very much _alive._ "

"I take it you've been here before to make the trip so smoothly?"

"Once with my parents when I was five."

Hermione thought her eyes might pop out of her skull. " _Five?_ You mean to tell me we relied on a _memory_ you had when you were _five_ to Apparate here?"

"Talented, aren't I?"

"You're a moronic fool."

"Don't hold back, Hermione. Tell me how you really feel."

She sighed, giving up the ghost. Well, they _had_ made it here in one piece. She picked up her menu, but Draco reached over and pushed it back down to the table.

"You won't be needing that."

"And why not?"

"I already know what we're ordering."

"Excuse you, but I'm _perfectly capable_ of ordering for myself."

"They don't carry _pictures_ on this menu."

Hermione felt the heat of anger bubble up within her until she saw the entertained glint in his eye. He was being a prat, but all in good fun. With a roll of her eyes, she jerked the menu out from underneath his hand and opened it up. Oh, her Spanish studies hadn't prepared her for this…she had no idea what any of this was. "Fine." She shut the menu. "But if it's awful, you're paying for it."

"I already intended on paying for it, anyway."

"Why?" She leaned closer. "We're two friends out for lunch. Going dutch is part of it."

"Yes, but one item on this menu is more than a day's pay for you at the Ministry," he quipped back.

"I never asked to come here."

"Thus why I'm _paying._ " It was his turn to roll his eyes, scooping up her menu just as the waiter arrived, two glasses of some bubbling brew in mugs the shape of small cacti. Once again, Draco pointed to something on the menu, stated the word, " _Dos,_ " and then handed the menus to the server. "Non-alcoholic," he assured her as he turned his sights back on Hermione. "It's a pep-tonic mixed with various fruit juices."

She stared skeptically at her cup before dragging it across the table and taking a sip. Sweet and spicy, the drink was surprisingly delicious. "Oh...oh my…"

"See? You should trust me more often." Draco brought his mug up to his lips and took a sip. As his eyes scanned her face, Hermione felt a well of curiosity and nervousness fill inside her chest. After a few more sips, she set the drink aside and pushed her wrapped silverware around on the table.

"So...here we are."

"Here we are," he agreed, folding his hands in front of him. "It's not as terrible as all that, is it?"

"No."

His body instantly relaxed. "Good. That's...good, then." There was one more moment of awkward silence before he tried to make small talk. "Next week, I'm meeting with a potions master contracted under my family's patent company to discuss my notes over the antidepressant."

"Oh?" Hermione's interest perked. "That's wonderful. Are you excited to get started?"

"Bit of an understatement," he nodded. "But I'm hoping once I have it perfected and patented, I could speak to your friend in research and development?"

"Of course! - You know him, actually."

"I do?"

"Remember Seamus Finnigan?"

"Oh, not that lump of worthless sod!" he groaned. "If memory serves, he blew up everything sky high back in school."

"Yes, but now he can do it in a controlled environment," stated Hermione happily. "And he's wonderful at it."

"Woo…"

They remained in idle chatter until the food arrived, both afraid to bring up the real questions between them: Why were they here? What did this 'friendship' mean for the both of them? Did Draco feel the skip in his heartbeat the way Hermione did when their legs touched under the table? Did his breath catch when he caught her staring just a moment too long? Eventually, they took to eating their food in pleasant silence until their plates were clean and their stomachs full.

It was then that Hermione gathered the courage to ask what was on her mind.

"So...dare I ask how you and Astoria are fairing?"

"We're fine," he replied, a bit too curtly for her liking. He must have realized the brash way in which he spoke, because he followed it with, "She...came by and dropped off some things."

"Oh?"

"The engagement ring, for example."

 _Oh._ Hermione folded her hands in her lap, trying to think of what best to say. There was a small bit of her that whooped and hollered in delight, but the rest of her felt extremely guilty for it. "So...the wedding is off?"

"I told you it was."

"Yes, but...but you're still taking lessons together," she insisted, staring down at her empty plate to avoid getting lost in the complexity of his gaze. "And you haven't announced anything…"

"That's just the way things are done with pureblood diplomacies. We have a lot riding riding on both of our shoulders, and we'd like to handle things as delicately as possible, for the time being. Though, it's a mutual agreement that we're both tired of living up to those _perfect_ expectations…" He twirled his spoon idly between his fingers, keeping himself busy as he spoke. "If we were to cancel everything at once, the press would tear our families apart, spouting 'bad blood' and 'family issues.' You can't very well be proactive and pureblooded in this day and age. If we take things slow, build on the friendship, we can come come to a conclusion that's mutually beneficial to both sides without giving our mothers any early heart attacks."

"So...you _don't_ plan on getting back together?" Hermione asked. "Or you _do_?"

Draco set the spoon down and forced her to look him square in the eyes. "Astoria and I have too many issues to be together. I think we're both coming to realize it. Even little less than a week apart, and it's the happiest I've been in years."

"Then why wait to tell the presses?"

"Sod them," he said, shrugging nonchalantly.

"No, _not_ sod them." Hermione popped her hand down on the table crisply. "You can't say you don't care what they think and still be unwilling to tell them. What's _really_ going on?"

His eyes darkened. "You wouldn't understand. You weren't raised like us."

"Then explain it to me," she whispered. "Please."

Draco sighed, mulling over how best to explain. "The way we were brought up, proposals only end in marriage, and anything less is a scandal. It's like constantly being placed under a magnification spell as people try to analyze every detail of your life, down to the bloody mark on your arm." He growed quiet, rubbing his forearm uncomfortably.

Hermione realized: "You're afraid that the presses will link your breakup to you being an ex-Death Eater."

"Wouldn't you be?" he shot back. "Can't you see it now, Hermione? 'Greengrass casts aside Death Eater fiance.'"

"But it's mutual."

"The papers don't care. They're only looking for a good story. Nevermind how anyone actually feels, it's all about what _sells_. And anyway, I'm done talking about it. Astoria's given me back the ring, and that is that. We'll come out to everyone, eventually. We just need to do it with tact."

It was like Hermione finally found the missing piece to the puzzle hidden beneath the floorboards. Everything, his misgivings, his dedication to Astoria, his unwavering pureblood oaths...they all began and ended with the scars upon his forearm, rendering him a previous enemy to the country. Hell, to the entire world.

"You don't think...that _I_ care about…about your Mark, do you?" she whispered, suddenly very serious. Draco's face grew somber, and he discretely rose up out of the booth, taking a seat beside her. Without a word, he reached over, laced their fingers together, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"No, Hermione. Believe it or not, I think you're the least prejudiced person I've ever met." His words hung heavy in her heart, holding so much substance to them. "I'm lucky to have a friend like you." He leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek, warming her entire face. His breath still tickled against her skin as he whispered, "That alright by you?"

All Hermione could do was nod in response. They sat in a new found silence, this one of utmost comfortability around each other. Eventually, Draco paid the tab and they walked outside into the sunshine, still hand in hand. She supposed they hadn't broken contact once since the initial handholding.

"So…" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear with her free hand, "What now?"

"That depends - what sort of mischief do you feel like getting into today?"

* * *

**Downstage Left: Astoria Greengrass**   
**Setting: Diagon Alley**

* * *

Astoria's heart beat wildly in her chest as she approached Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and yanked open the front door, signalling the bell above the door to chime. "You can do this," she told herself. "It won't be so bad…"

The moment she entered, a tuft of red hair attached to a lanky body stepped in front of her. For a moment, she thought it might be _him,_ but it wasn't - though it was someone who looked quite a bit _like_ him with matching freckles and bright blue eyes. "Allo, allo, pretty lady. The name's George. George Weasley. Think i could interest you in some puking pastilles today?"

"Oh, um, no. If you could just point me in the direction of Ron?"

George looked her up and down. "Ron Weasley?"

"Yes."

" _You're_ looking for Ron Weasley? Does he owe you money?"

Astoria's eyebrows stitched together, perplexed. "No? He's a...well...a friend, I suppose." Yes, a friend that she'd snogged in a desperate time of self-loathing…

"And does he _pay_ you for that friendship?" asked George skeptically.

"I suppose we'll see," she quipped with a sly wink, spotting Ron at the counter. "If you'll excuse me." She rushed past George and over to the front counter, waving. The moment Ron spotted her, his eyes went wide, his entire body flushed red, and he ducked behind the counter. Astoria frowned inquisitively as a customer, a small boy no older than ten, leaned over the counter and said, "Uh, Mister? I wasn't done paying for these…"

"On the house!" Came a muffled response. The customer walked away with a shrug.

Astoria sighed, leaning over the counter to peer at Ron.. "Hello."

Bewildered, Ron glanced up at her, stuttering, "Uh, h-hello. Just, erm, dropped a...a receipt. Somewhere…"

"And you weren't avoiding me?" she asked.

"Avoiding you?" He feigned innocence, reappearing on his feet behind the counter. "Nah. I, er, I…" He caught eyes with George, who walked past the two while popping a sweet in his mouth. As George blinked, little hearts float out of his eyes and over in Ron's direction. Ron scowled, scratching the side of his cheek (with his middle finger, subtly flipping George off). "Can I get you something?" he asked Astoria when George was a comfortable distance away. "Pygme Puff? Tongue Toffee?"

"Actually, I was hoping I could give _you_ something."

"Ooooh!" shouted George from a nearby aisle.

"An apology."

George groaned, disappointed. "Ooooh…."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "For what?"

"For...you know." Astoria reached over and snatched up a lips flavored lollipop from the counter, pressing it to Ron's lips.

"Oh." Ron blushed even harder. It was adorable.

"And the bit after...Draco really didn't need to make you throw up so many slugs."

"Ugh, don't remind me. I can still taste them. But uh...you didn't need to come here. Not that I mind you being here, but...I mean...you didn't need to say you were sorry."

"Oh?"

"It's not like pretty women just throw themselves at me every day," Ron shrugged, impassive. "Actually, it was quite the ego boost." He paused. "You changed your hair."

"I did. Do you-"

"Love it? Yeah. It looks good on you." He smiled. "You look younger."

Astoria was practically floating on cloud nine, but she couldn't let him know it. "Are you saying I looked old, Ronald Weasley?"

"N-No. I just...blimey, you have me stuttering like Neville…"

"Who?"

"A friend of mine. Great with plants. Terrible with talking to pretty girls."

"You think I'm pretty?" She fluttered her eyelashes.

"You're damn right, he does!" shouted George from across the shop.

"George!" Ron yelled back. "Shut it!"

"You're right! You can crash and burn all on your own, baby brother!" George laughed.

Astoria rolled her eyes. "Do you have a break sometime today?"

"A break?"

"Yes, such as a lunch break?"

"Oh. Um. Y-Yeah. In an hour."

"Splendid. I shall see you then!"

"For what?" Ron blurted out.

"I'll have you know, Mister Weasley, I am _not_ the kind of girl to kiss just any random man. You at least owe me some sort of explanation as to who you are."

"I do?"

"You do."

"But _you_...kissed _me_?"

"I shall see you at precisely two P.M.!" Astoria sat a Knut down on the counter to pay for the lip lollipop and popped it into her mouth, shooting Ron a wink as she began to saunter away.

"Oh...okay?" He paused. "Hey, wait! Am I gonna have to puke up more slugs?"

Astoria stopped at the door, smiling. "Only if you're late."

* * *

**As always, I would love to hear your thoughts! Hope to hear from you soon, and I'll see you next #TangoTuesday!**   
**~A.**


	23. Follow My Lead

****

**Yes, yes, I know. No #TangoTuesday this week. It's Friday. If you follow me on Facebook, you know I've been dealing with some things. I'm okay! I'm just slower. Brain has been pulled in a million different directions, and it was very hard to write happiness when I was in the bleakest of moods. However, here we are! Tango is here!**

**I hope you enjoy. Beta love to LondonsLegends and alpha love to LightofEvolution. Without these two ladies constantly telling me that I didn't need to force this chapter, to write it on my own time, I finally was able to push through and produce it. Thank you.**

**~A.**

* * *

**"Well, get up, up on the dancefloor, move, it's a Saturday night**

**I fell in love with the sparkle in the moonlight**

**Reflected in your beautiful eyes**

**I guess that is destiny doing it right**

**And dance like they do in the Mediterranean**

**Spin you around me again and again, and**

**You're like something that God has sent me**

**I want you, baby, solamente"**

**~Barcelona by Ed Sheeran**

* * *

**Stage** **Right: Draco and Hermione**  
 **Setting: Spain! The whole lot of it. Namely, Barcelona.**

* * *

They ended up touring the shops for a nice portion of the afternoon in the wizarding part of Spain: Barcelona. The colorful buildings and rich architecture left Hermione's eyes in a blur they zipped from one store to the other, not to buy - simply to observe. There was rich history in each of the buildings they stepped inside, and Hermione couldn't help rambling off facts she'd learned from this book or that in regards to Spain's distinctive culture.

By the time two in the afternoon rolled around, Hermione had coerced Draco into the local, _muggle_ museums. "We could learn about the Spanish Inquisition."

"Really? You want to dredge down that dark alleyway of history?" Draco scoffed, though at the end of it, he added a hint of a smirk. Their hands remained woven together like patchwork as they weaved through the crowds at the various displays of the museum.

Hermione seemed quite comfortable on the outside, but on the inside, she was as nervous as a cat having been thrown out into the front lawn while having never spent one day outside. This was new, frightening, and above all else: _confusing_. Her mind told her not to get too worked up, that they were simply friends out on the town together. But her heart, and her stomach, told her differently. They whispered together and plotted against her, muttering on about hand holding and that kiss on the cheek.

"Muggle history is far less fascinating," Draco drawled, giving a hearty yawn when their tour was over. "And it makes me hungry all over again."

"We could see if one of the street vendors has anything to offer," Hermione replied as they stepped out of the museum and into the blaring sunlight. Someone bumped shoulders with Draco, sending him slightly off balance, and he released her hand momentarily to find a sturdy standing once more. They both glanced down at their fingers, now apart, and wondered what to do.

Hermione boldly offered her hand back out to him, nodding once. Draco visibly swallowed, even more pale than usual, and then he took her hand in his, tighter than before. "Where next?" he asked, pulling her close to him. It looked to be because a group of people threatened to pull them apart again, but Hermione had an inkling it might have something to do with wanting to be next to her. She flushed cherry pink on her cheeks as she scanned her eyes down the streets in search of food.

"There. That looks good, doesn't it?" She pointed to a nearby vendor stand with a sign that read ' _Empanadas.'_

Draco narrowed his eyes, skeptical. "Are we sure _that's_ what we want?"

"Why not?"

"Does it even look edible?"

"Oh, hush." She yanked him by the arm and began to drag him over to the stand. "You shouldn't be so closed-minded."

"Excuse you, but it was _my_ idea to take us to Spain, so I would hardly considered that closed-minded, thank you."

Hermione rolled her eyes, fished out some currency from her own pockets that she'd had converted earlier from a wizarding bank (seeing as how Draco wouldn't know what to do with muggle currency) and, in her broken Spanish, asked for two empanadas while pointing to the large foldable sign. The vendor raised a curious eyebrow at her but nodded, quickly handing them off.

"This looks like a calzone," Draco noted, turning it this way and that.

"It's the same principle," she nodded.

"What's in it?"

"Honestly? I have no clue. I pointed to the one at the top of the menu."

"So if I get extreme food poisoning, I won't even know what did me in?"

"Exactly. Cheers." Hermione bumped their empanadas together and smiled before taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. Her mouth was instantly bombarded with the rich tastes of cheese, chicken and… "Oh, wait, Draco-!" But he'd already bitten down on his empanada.

There was a pause.

And then… "SWEET BABY DRAGONS!" Draco's face flared bright red as he choked, trying to be manly while he swallowed the cheese, chicken, and _Padrón peppers._ "Water! Need water!"

"Water won't help," Hermione said, fanning his face as if that would solve his problem. "That's actually a common misconception. You see," she began to recite from something she'd read, " _The "heat" in hot peppers and other spicy foods meld with the oils used to prepare them. When you eat a bite of spicy food, these oils coat your mouth and tongue. Since oil doesn't dissolve in water, even cold water is unlikely to remove the oily film on your tongue…"_

Draco rolled his eyes as he wiped the back of his hand across his nose, his sinuses fully open and aware of the spicey damage left to the roof of his mouth. "Hermione, no offence, but I don't care. _Blegh_." He chucked the empanada into the trash. "That's a no from me."

"That's highly disrespectful…"

"No, what's highly disrespectful is assaulting my tongue with that….that…"

"Empanada."

"Yes, that. - Don't they have any sweets somewhere?"

"You and your sweet tooth," Hermione grumbled, though it was laced with humor. "Come on. I'm sure we can find you something."

* * *

**Stage Left: Ron Weasley  
Setting: The loo.**

* * *

Ron swallowed hard, checking his teeth in the bathroom mirror. Hair - well, it was a mess, but when wasn't it? Breath? Minty fresh. Thank Merlin for peppermint gobstoppers. Clothes? Oh, ugh. He wasn't ready to be seen out with a pretty woman. Not by a longshot. Still, Astoria didn't seem like the type to care about that, did she?

 _Why the Hell do you care?_ _She's a taken bird, isn't she? To Draco Malfoy. Prick…_

He splashed some basin water in his face and patted it dry with a towel. "You can do this. It's just talking. And she wants to apologize. For kissing you." His reflection stared back at him quizzically. "I know, I'm just as shocked as you are."

_Bang, bang!_

"Are you done giving yourself a terrible pep-talk?" George asked from the other side of the door.

"No."

"Well, that pretty woman is back. And if you're not willing to give it a go-"

Ron wretched the door open. "You're married."

George smirked. "Indeed, I am, baby brother, but you are not!" He grabbed Ron by the sleeve and yanked him out of the bathroom, ushering him toward the front store register.

"Wait, are you...helping me?" asked Ron.

"Only to shut Mum up. You know how she's been ever since you and Hermione split. Now…" He moved Ron past the register and toward the front door. "Don't come back for the rest of the day."

"Wait. What?"

The next moment, Ron had been tossed outside (nicely, of course - George did it all out of good fun, after all) and came face to face with Astoria. She was smiling, waving gleefully at his arrival.

"Remember, Ron," said George over his shoulder as he waltzed back into the store. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"Ugh, he's just given me permission to do anything," Ron grumbled quietly, though it was loud enough for Astoria to hear. She giggled under her breath, alarming Ron. Wait. Did she just...laugh at his joke? No one ever thought him funny.

"Come along," she said, turning on her heel and marching off down the street.

"Where are we going?" Ron was quick on her trail.

Astoria peered over her shoulder coyly. "Wherever we like. But I think lunch, first? Yes?"

"Won't...won't Malfoy be pissed?"

"I doubt it."

* * *

"You've been staring in that shop window for nearly half an hour, now. Are you going to go in and purchase something, or simply gawk out here from afar like a...what is it the muggles call the homeless?"

"A hobo," Hermione replied, not caring to fully pay attention; her eyes were transfixed on a brilliant red and black flamenco style evening skirt hung up on a mannequin two sizes smaller than herself. Goodness, it was a pretty thing, hand stitched with vine embroidery. She wanted to reach through the glass and touch it.. "I doubt it's my size."

Draco glanced up at the mannequin and back to Hermione. "What are you? A two?"

"It's slightly disturbing you would know a woman's dress size just by looking at them."

"I blame my mother dragging me to nearly every dress shop in wizarding London when I was young." He shrugged. "And you're built much like my motherrr...that sounded much more perverse than intended." Draco seized her by the hand again. "But you're trying on the skirt, one way or another."

"Oh...oh, no...that's-" But Hermione had already been yanked into the store. Draco, through some _extremely_ broken Spanish and a Hell of a lot of pointing, managed to convey the message to the store clerk that Hermione would like to try on the skirt in the shop window. Having then been pulled into the dressing room by the clerk, she now found herself wrapped in the seductive looking skirt, staring at it from three different mirrors, wondering how this could be her.

Her hips looked full and her legs tantalizing. Every time she moved, the skirt would swish and sway. It looked absolutely breathtaking with her shirt, which surprised her, and she nearly forgot Draco was on the other side of the dressing room door. Nearly, because he pried it open after a moment.

"Draco!" she shouted, throwing her hands over her completely dressed body as if there was actually something to hide. "You can't stroll into a woman's dressing room!"

He stared indifferently at her. "Why not?"

"What if I had been nude?"

Draco took a moment to consider her question before replying, with a smirk, "Well, then it would have been a tantalizing sight for all involved, wouldn't it?" He stepped inside and closed the door.

"Well…" Hermione tried to ignore her racing heart; being trapped inside a changing room with Draco Malfoy wasn't on her list of to-do's today, but she rather enjoyed it. "What do you think?" She gestured down to the skirt.

Tilting his head, Draco examined the skirt like someone who had more than a clue as to what passed as fashionable. "Do a spin for me."

"It's horrible, isn't it?"

"Granger," he drawled, using that annoying, commanding Malfoy authority that worked on most everyone else _but_ Hermione, "I said - do a spin for me."

With a huff, Hermione closed her eyes and turned in place.

"You call that a spin?" he jostled.

"Ergh. Fine!" She quickly picked up the pace, twirling as best she could with her eyes closed. His gaze was igniting, much the way a spark starts a forest fire - slow at first, but then the burn in Hermione's stomach traveled up her chest and into her throat. Good Circe, he was so close, she could practically lick him...

"See?" he whispered, low and simmering. "You look stunning." With a quick, graceful movement, he turned her around to face the mirror, his hands resting idly on her sides. Hermione caught the blush on her cheeks just before their eyes met in the mirror. "You're getting the skirt," he told her.

"And if I think I look hideous in it?"

"You don't think you look hideous in it. So that argument just threw itself out the window." There was a playful look in his eye right before he snapped the price tag off the skirt.

"Hey!"

"I'll be up front. Leave the skirt on. -But just so you know, I don't plan on buying some ridiculous sombrero to match."

"That's stereotyping."

Draco shrugged. "I never claimed to be completely turned in my old ways."

* * *

"So…" Ron took a bite of his ham and cheese on wheat before continuing in a hushed murmur, "No more Malfoy?"

"No." Astoria sat quietly, her hands folded delicately on the table, heart fluttering away in her chest. It felt liberating to tell someone besides her sister. "I think we both know it's for the best." Something thrummed inside of her - a sense of sadness at knowing she'd failed at something as beautiful as love, but she pushed it down quickly. She didn't want to show all of her colors. Only a few, and only the ones she was comfortable with presenting.

She watched Ron chew thoughtfully, taking a sip of his water. "I know you probably don't wanna hear it, but I think you made the right call."

Astoria quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?" There was a hint of insult laced in her voice.

Ron didn't seem to notice. "Look, the man's a twat. I grew up with him, you know. I remember all of the shite he used to put me and my friends through."

"He's not that boy anymore," Astoria said definitively.

"Maybe not, but even so, you're too nice o'va girl to be caught up in that. I mean, really. What could you possibly see in him?"

Shrugging, she reached for one of Ron's crisps on his plate. "It wasn't what I saw, per say. It was his potential to be something more than himself. But every time I tried to help him, he'd push me away. Stubborn as a bull, that one."

Ron scratched at the stubble on his chin. "Yeah. I've got one of those myself."

"You speak of Miss Granger."

"...Is it that obvious?"

"I guess we're both helpless fools who fell for headstrong people," Astoria sighed.

"Something like that." Ron finished his sandwich, staring at Astoria's untouched plate. "You're not gonna eat?"

She pushed the plate toward him. "Have at."

Ron didn't need to be told twice. He was already sliding the chicken sandwich over in his direction before tearing into it. He did stop long enough to rip half of it off and offer it back to her. "You really should eat something."

It was a simple act, but it was a kind one, and Astoria appreciated it. She humbly took her half of the sandwich and nibbled on the end of it, appeasing the redhead. Satisfied, Ron went back to eating, thoroughly content. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Why are you out with... _me_?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" Astoria asked.

Ron blinked, as if it had only then dawned on him that she might _actually_ want to be seen in public with him. He sat the sandwich down, rubbed the back of his head, and muttered, "Dunno, I s'pose...just isn't something I'm used to."

"Well, you definitely don't seem as bad as Draco makes you out to be. I was hoping we could be friends."

"Ah." He nodded. "Got it."

"Hmm?"

"So you're feeling guilty about kissing me, and you want to make it perfectly clear we're 'just friends.'"

"No, actually." Astoria rolled her eyes.

"No?"

"No."

"What, then?"

"Ronald, I very much enjoy your company. It might be too soon to say anything else, but I'd like to get to know you more. You seem thoroughly fascinating."

"...You don't get out much, do you?"

"No."

* * *

"Ooh, street performers!" Hermione snatched Draco by the arm, dragging him through the crowded streets over to a section of the road that was blocked off purely for performances. Draco let himself be manhandled by the adorable brunette, now wearing her authentic skirting, and smirked to himself when he watched her eyes light up. They stopped at the guitar player, the mime, and the trumpet player before making their way to the main attraction: two pairs of street dancers. Muggle dressed, though they were, Draco watched in awe at the way they moved fluidly through the movements of the samba and flamenco.

"They're wonderful," Hermione muttered, almost disheartened. "I wish I wasn't such a klutz."

"That makes the both of us," he agreed, stepping up closely behind her to inhale the scent of her perfume. Everything about her was intoxicating, from her conversation to the little twinkle in her eye when she'd purchased the skirt. Even arguing about who might pay for what was thrilling; it brought out a quippy, playful side to Draco he hadn't seen in himself for a long time. Being here without a care in the world...where no one knew his face, and no one could scoff at him - well, it was everything. And it was even better to be around a person who knew all of his deepest, darkest secrets and didn't care. Yes, Astoria knew the darkness within him, too, but only Hermione had seen him at his nastiest, cruelest side. She'd seen him that night in Malfoy Manor, when she'd been tortured within an inch of her life, and he'd turned his head away because he was too horrified to watch. She knew all this about him, and yet here she was, out in the open, leaning her back against his chest as they watched the dancers spin and glide.

What had he done to deserve any of this?

Nothing.

Not a damn thing.

The dancers stopped performing and sauntered their way through the crowd, randomly selecting people to dance with. One of them, an older gentleman, picked Hermione, while his partner, a woman with golden hair, stopped in front of Draco.

"Oh, no, I'm fine-" Hermione insisted, but she was pulled away, and so was Draco, out of the crowd and into the sparse bit of street. They exchanged coy smiles with each other.

"Best dancer buys dessert?" he asked with a wink.

Smugness crossed Hermione's features. "Do try not to break your partner's toes, yes?"

And so they set to work, trying to pay as best attention to the dance steps, occasionally casting each other grins or egging taunts. So it came as a surprise that, eventually, they were pushed together by the dancers and made to dance with each other.

The moment their hands touched, it was like a bolt of electricity shot down Draco's spine, alerting his senses. They weren't very acquainted with the steps, but it didn't seem to matter to either of them. The music faded and the crowd's roar lessened in the wake of the beautiful woman in his arms. The small crease she wore as she concentrated on the steps made him want to shove her into the nearest wall and hike up that skirt of hers.

"Hermione," he said quietly, drawing her eyes back up to him. "Just follow my lead, yes?"

Sighing, she gave up trying to perfect the steps and nodded, eyes set in his. "Yes."

They began dancing not to the music, but the rhythm in their chest - that _loud, soft, loud, soft_ that could only come from their hearts. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and her skin prickle. Soon their foreheads were touching. The crowd was nonexistent, music all but forgotten about. The only thing Draco could hear was his heart pulsing in his eardrums, encouraging him.

Their lips touched, softly at first, and then with a passionate crescendo that left them both hungry for more. Not only did their bodies dance, their tongues did too, and Draco forgot all about his footwork, stumbling and nearly knocking them over.

Hermione laughed into the kiss.

Draco smirked.

"You know, I have some delicious desserts back at my place," he offered bravely.

He saw the temptation in her eyes, the want - no, _need_ there. But then he saw it fade, and the logic in her overwhelm the rest. "Maybe...another time."

Well, it wasn't a no. "Another time, then." He kissed her again, chastely this time, but added a hint of a nibble to her lower lip at the end. "I'm going to hold you to that."

* * *

Ron Weasley panted heavily, staring down at the beautiful brunette already tucked into his side, drawing the covers around her to block her naked body from the chill of the room.

"That was…"

"Delightful?" she offered.

Ron gulped down a few more breaths before answering, "Merlin, you really know your way around the bedroom, don't you?"

Astoria giggled into his side, draping her delicate arm over his soft stomach. "You weren't so bad yourself, Weasley. Round two in twenty?"

"Definitely."

* * *

**Just a quick heads up: I'm currently working on the Enchanted Awards for Granger Enchanted Survivors 18+. With that in mind, my posting schedule might be sporatic until they are over (July 1st) -you'll still get Tango! It might just not be on time every time. So please, be patient with me? :D**

~A.


	24. Off the Beaten Path

**I know what you're gonna say. "MrB, you've been gone for a month. WTF?" And to that I will say: Yes. I have. I've been working on the Enchanted Awards (PS, I made it to the finals for 8 different awards for (if I remember right) 7 different fics, including Tango!) If you'd like to vote, you can go to my facebook page for a link. -but anyway, life. Life has a way of getting in the way. I lost a bit of momentum for this fic, but I'm slowly gaining traction again. I hope you enjoy it.  
**   
**All of the beta love to LondonsLegend, and alpha love to LightofEvolution. Without these L's in my life, my writing would be very bland. (hearts)**   
**~A.**

* * *

**"Do not go where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail."**   
**~Ralph Waldo Emerson**

* * *

**Chapter 24: Off the Beaten Path**

* * *

**Stage Left: Draco Malfoy**   
**Setting: Malfoy Manor**

* * *

Draco sat by himself at his kitchen table, sipping on a cup of ebony, wondering if she was thinking about  _him_  the way he was thinking about  _her._  Two days had passed since their date...well, was it that? It was supposed to be only lunch, but it had turned into a whole day's worth of events that ended in kissing. Could that even be considered a date by muggle standards? Did Hermione even hold herself to 'muggle' standards? Why the fuck was he caring?

"Sigh…" He muttered into his coffee.

"Sigh?" asked a calm, collected voice from the doorway. Draco glanced up to find his mother staring back at him. "Did you just say the word 'sigh' instead of actually sighing?"

"I can do what I want, Mother. I'm an adult." He took a sip of his coffee and nearly burned his tongue. "Ouch!"

"And yet you still haven't learned the basics." Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Where is Astoria?"

 _How the Hell should I know_? Draco's mind instantly wanted to snark back, but he then remembered that they hadn't  _exactly_  announced their called off engagements just yet. "Out, I suppose," he replied.

"That's interesting. Don't you care where she is?"

"Again.  _Adults_. She's perfectly capable-"

"Of running our reputation into the ground?" Narcissa snapped, her heels clacking across the floor.

"What are you drolling on about?" Crap, what had Astoria done?

"You're lucky I know a few people who managed to keep this whole business under wraps -unlike  _your_ debacle last time with Miss Granger." The woman took a seat across from Draco like a cobra deducing when best to strike. "Would you like to know what your darling Astoria has been up to while you've been away? I'll give you a clue. It involves classless, freckled redheads and a fetish for the poor."

Draco  _actually_  sighed into his coffee this time. Maybe it was time to give up the ghost. "Astoria is free to do as she pleases." Even as he said it, there was a twinge of something -a knee jerk reaction of jealousy and possessiveness. It wasn't his place to feel this way, but damn it. He'd been with Astoria for years - and she was already finding a snug place in Weasley's company? Not that he had any room to talk, being out with Hermione...

Narcissa quirked one pristine eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"...As a matter of fact." With an authority known only to a Malfoy man, Draco pushed himself up out of his chair. "We're…" He attempted softening the blow. "Taking time to evaluate things."

"Evaluate?"

"It's what I said, isn't it?" Merlin, it was hot in this room.

"Draco  _Lucius_ Malfoy, are you trying to tell me you've thrown the one decent thing you've done in your life into the gutter?"

"Oh, was it just the one? I'm so glad to know nothing else in my life adds up to a failed engagement," Draco sneered dully, rolling his eyes. It was a mistake, because Narcissa gave a  _tsk_  under her breath, which could only mean she was about to lay the wrath of Morgana herself down upon her child.

But, to Draco's surprise, she merely stood from the table as well, eyeing him with a cunning intellect known only to Slytherin heritage. "How interesting…"

"Does this mean you...approve?"

"No, darling." She smirked. "Not by a long shot."

* * *

**Stage Right: Draco, Hermione, Greg  
Setting: Dance Studio Dos**

* * *

"Come on, Hermione! Some of us value our time!" Draco called from below the pillar in Dance Studio Dos, a playful tone in his voice. Hermione giggled into her hand, trying to trade her grin for a professional mask. Greg Diggle stood in the corner of the room, reading a book lazily. His father had assigned him Saturday afternoon to tutor the two since Draco reinstated their lessons three days ago.

Hermione settled herself on the tallest height of the pillar, glancing back at Draco over her shoulder, thinking how frightening this all would be if she didn't  _trust_  him. But if the last two weeks had taught her anything, it was that she should never say  _never_. No, they hadn't spent every waking moment with each other, but they'd found a gentle ease in sending owls between the days that they would spend together, usually trading books or eating take-out at her place while listening to various types of muggle and magical music.

All in all, it was a blossoming friendship, and though they hadn't locked lips again since that day in Spain, Hermione knew that this was developing into something. Even if she couldn't put a label on it.

"Ready?"

"Been ready."

"Alright!" she said loudly. "Here we go!"

Fighting the nervousness inside, she flung herself back and let herself fall off of the pillar, the wind fluttering in her ears. She landed on a bed of warm air, her curls tickling her face, and she giggled into her shoulder.

"That was fun!"

Draco smirked above her. "Glad to see you're enjoying yourself."

Greg peered over his book, a skeptical expression written in the corner of his eyes. "You two are awfully chummy again."

"I guess we are," said Draco with an air of arrogance, swishing his wand and letting Hermione fall to the last two feet with a  _thunk._  "Sort of."

"That  _wasn't_  nice," Hermione groaned, rubbing her sore bum.

"I'm sorry. Did I give you the impression I was?" he quipped back.

From the corner of the room, Greg gave a thick cough. "If you two are done eye-shagging each other…"

"That's highly insulting," said Hermione. "We're just friends." Kind of. Well, that's all they were at the moment. But maybe they  _should_  lay off of the banter for the time being. "Honestly, Draco. Quit being so-"

"Charming? Irresistible?"

"Distracting."

With a careless shrug, he readied his stance for dancing and offered an arm out. "I'm a Malfoy. Being distracting is what we do."

"The only reason I'm not vomiting on this floor is because I'd rather not clean it," quipped Greg. "Right. Stances ready." He snapped his fingers, and a charming melody played through the air from out of nowhere. "Malfoy, relax your shoulders. You're not a wax statue."

"I remember him being friendlier," Draco grumbled under his breath.

"To you? I don't." Hermione smiled innocently. "But perhaps you're coming on a bit... _strong_?"

"Me?" The blond quirked an eyebrow. "Says the woman who literally fell into my arms moments ago."

"One: that was part of the exercise. And two: I fell into your  _magic_ , not your arms."

"You say tomato…"

"While I have you here," said Hermione, working up her nerve. She'd been planning to ask him an important (or, at least, in her opinion it was) question this afternoon, but every time she'd opened her mouth to do it, the words fell short. This time, before they could die away again, she pushed out, "I was wondering if you were free tomorrow night."

Draco took the lead, starting them on their dance. "I could check my schedule...why?" His eyes gleamed with curiosity.

"Ginny has a Quidditch game...a few of us were going to meet up for drinks after."

"...And you want us to be seen. Out in public. Together."

Her heart sped faster. "Yes." This was the tipping point. What he said next would be pivotal - if he didn't want to be seen with her-

"Alright."

"What?" Hermione sputtered out before she could retract it.

"Are you hard of hearing? I said 'alright.'"

"You'll do it?"

"Is the definition of 'alright' lost on you?"

"I'm just…" She chewed on her lower lip. "Surprised."

He smirked. "As you say," he spun her around with finesse, "we're just friends."

"Yes." Her cheeks flushed pink. "We are."

There was a queer look in his eye - one that said his mind lay elsewhere. He came back around eventually and gave her an honest smile. "Will Weasley be there?"

"Ginny?"

"The  _gangly_  one."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, Ron will be there, too. Is that a problem?"

With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, Draco shook his head. "Not at all. As long as he understands where he resides in all of this...we should get along  _famously._ "

 _More like infamously,_  Hermione thought, but didn't push the subject. She was just glad that he was willing to do this small act for her; if he could show her he was willing to get along with her friends, it was a step in the right direction. But to what exactly?  _One step at a time_ , she reminded herself.  _One step at a time._

* * *

**Downstage Left: Draco Malfoy**   
**Setting: The Greengrass Estate**

* * *

Draco arrived at the Greengrass Estate at a quarter past two in the afternoon on Friday, stepping through the floo with purpose. He shuffled out of his blazer, set it on the coat rack near the fireplace, and glanced around at the lavish living room with not a soul in sight. "Hello?" he called out. Bloody Hell, he knew he was late, but Blaise said he'd meet him here…

"Hello," said a feminine voice from the doorway. Draco turned his head and spotted Daphne, a milkshake in her hands. She looked particularly torn up, as if she'd been under the weather all morning.

"Morning sickness?" Draco asked, glancing at the fluted glass in her hand. "Milk might not do well on your stomach."

" _Thank you,_ Draco," Daphne said dryly, "I'm so glad that I have  _you_  to give me pregnancy advice. As we all know, you've popped out four or five yourself, yes? - Oh, that's right. You haven't. I think I'll just stick to my body's natural cravings, thank you." She sipped the milkshake from her straw defiantly.

"What bee flew in your bonnet?"

"Really, Draco? We're to play each other for fools?"

Draco narrowed his eyes, realizing. "This is about Astoria."

"Yes, it is."

"Is Blaise even here? Or was that all a ruse to get me in your claws?"

"I'm a Slytherin, Draco. Fangs are a more appropriate analogy." She took a step closer. "What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?"

"Right now? I'm standing, listening to you blabber."

Daphne huffed. "I mean, about  _Astoria._  Your relationship. Are you honestly going to throw it all away over cold feet?"

"Is that what you've heard?" He raised an eyebrow slowly.

"I haven't heard much, really. Astoria refuses to talk about it. Blaise says we shouldn't butt in, but I-"

"He's right, you know." Draco reached for his blazer, ready to high tail it back to the floo, but Daphne, quick as lightning, drew her wand and slashed it, shutting the fireplace off and dousing the flames. "Maturity becomes you, Daph."

"Tell me why. Why would you throw it all away? Astoria's been nothing but kind to you over the years."

"You think I don't know that?" Draco muttered, irritation traveling up his spine.

"My sister deserves better than this."

"I agree."

"Then why-"

"It  _isn't_  your business, Daphne." Draco whirled around to face her, suddenly very serious. "You're practically family, so do me the courtesy of  _trusting_  that Astoria and I know what the  _Hell_  we're doing."

"I would, except…"

"Except?"

"Except…" Daphne closed her eyes. "I had cold feet, too, you know. Before the wedding."

That got Draco's attention. "You?"

She nodded. "Me." Floating like the sugar plum fairy, Daphne crossed the room and took a seat on the sofa, patting the spot next to her. Giving in, Draco did as was asked of him, sighing as he approached and slumped down on the sofa. "It was about a month before. I went out with friends...got  _very_  sloshed." Daphne slurped down a little more of her milkshake. "There was this man. Philip."

"Phillip?" Draco scoffed. "What sort of name is 'Phillip'?"

"...A muggle one."

"Ugh," Draco groaned, "Tell me you didn't-"

"I didn't!" Daphne threw a hand up. "I swear on all of my fortune. But I was  _almost_  tempted, just to see what it would be like." She pursed her lips together, turning her eyes to the floor. "My point is, just because the grass looks greener on the other side doesn't mean that it is. Sometimes, the person who loves you is the person you  _should_  be with."

Draco felt his cheeks warm under the weight of her words. "This isn't cold feet."

"Then what is it?"

How could he explain it to her? This wasn't something easily describable - how did one say the love had died out like a flame without oxygen? That being free to make his own decisions, for once, was as uplifting as a cool breeze on the hottest of days? That being around Hermione felt nothing like being around Astoria - meaning, there was no crutch for him to lean on? She treated him like he was an equal, not an invalid? No, to tell Daphne any of these things would result in social suicide, so he settled on one of his signature smirks and draped an arm around Daphne's shoulders casually. "Did anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?"

"I mean it, Draco."

"I'm sure you do."

"I don't want you to wake up tomorrow morning and regret a decision you've made too brashly."

Withholding one of the largest eye rolls ever, which he was tempted to do, Draco stood and glanced idly to the fireplace. "May I go now?"

Sighing, Daphne snapped her fingers, igniting the flames once more. "You're not a prisoner here."

"I would hope not. I hear prison food is just the worst." With a wink, he strolled over and plucked up a handful of floo powder. "Thanks...for the pep talk?"

"Oh, out with you!" Daphne fought a smile. "Damn you and your Malfoy charm."

"It's what I do best."

"As long as you know what the Hell it is your doing. But...if you feel lost, you know you have a friend in me. And Blaise."

"Of course. I'll be honest with you, though. I don't think I've ever felt so happy to not know the road I'm traveling down. Can't I stay off the beaten path a moment longer?"

"Promise to come back to us eventually?" she smiled.

"With souvenirs."

"Well, then. How can I argue with that? Do me a favor? Don't tell Blaise-"

"Our little secret." He nodded. "Cheers, Daph."

"Cheers."

He stepped through the floo, thinking he might feel betrayed for Daphne's cunning lie to get him here, but all he felt was a flattered sense of friendship. At least he still had that out of the embers of his failure…

* * *

**Center Stage: A very Potter crew**   
**Setting: Diagon Alley**

* * *

"Urghhhh, this is positively the worst night!" shouted a disheartened Ginny Weasley as she and her friends strolled down the rain-sloshed sidewalk of Diagon Alley in search of a good pub to drown out the fact that Ginny's Quidditch game had been cancelled due to new regulations that demanded safer conditions for players in inclement weather. The fact that she could have been struck by lightning didn't deter her from wanting to play, especially since "Hogwarts let us play in storms all of the time! These new rules are blarmy!"

Harry leaned his head on Ginny's, utilizing an umbrella spell with his wand to keep them dry(ish) as they led the way, Ron and Neville quick on their heels, followed by Hermione, and dragging his heels, Draco. He'd been absolutely charming when he'd met up with her earlier, but upon being thrust in front of the present company, he'd grown eerily quiet for someone who loved being the center of attention. Even still, he'd let his lips turn up when Hermione turned to look at him, but she had the sneaking suspicion that any time she turned away, his face would fall once more. She didn't want to make it more awkward by asking what was wrong with him, so her mind began to race with possibilities that this had taken their friendship a step too far.

Was it wrong to ask him out like this? To force him to socialize with her friends? No, she thought with a touch of defensiveness. If he wanted to be her friend, she needed to know he could play nice with others.

"What about this one, Gin?" offered Neville, pointing to a small tavern only two shops down. "The…" He squinted his eyes. "Well, that can't be right, can it?"

" _The Wormy Dog_ ," Draco chimed in for one of the first times this evening. All eyes turned to him. "What? I have perfect vision. That's  _exactly_  what it says."

"It fits my current disposition," said Ginny with a tilt of her head, assessing the bar from the outside. "I'm in."

"Finally!" Ron exclaimed. "D'you think that have crisps? Or maybe some chips?"

"You and your stomach," Hermione chided. "Alright, let's go."

The group made their way into the pub and pushed some tables together without permission, though the bartender didn't seem to mind so much, probably excited to have patrons on such an gloomy night. As Harry and Neville went to the bartop to order everyone a round, and Ginny was in a deep conversation with Ron about Quidditch stats, Hermione found her moment to tug on Draco's sleeve and ask, "Are you...alright?"

"Haven't we been over the definition?" he quipped back, a small smirk on his face as he shuffled chairs around the table with a flick of his wand.

"You've been quiet."

"I'm out of my element. You expect me to be chatty?" He quirked an eyebrow. "These are your friends, Hermione, not mine."

"Then why are you here?" she asked, allowing him to take her coat and drape it over the back of one of the chairs. He sat in a seat next to it, giving a faint yawn.

"You." The lax look on his face was enough to stir a pit of feelings inside of Hermione's stomach, crawling up her throat and settling as a blush along her cheeks.

"That's...flattering." She plopped down into the seat next to him, scooting it just a bit closer.

"Normally, I'd say you should feel flattered, but seeing as how it's the truth…"

Harry and Neville approached the table with a tray of butterbeers, passing them out respectively. Draco slid the first one he received over to Hermione and then found himself one, sipping on the foam on top to give him a butterbeer mustache. "Tell me, do I look Diggle-ish enough for you?"

Hermione giggled into her sleeve. "All that's missing is a showy cape and a disgruntled son in the background."

Wiping the foam off with the back of his hand, Draco turned in his chair to set his back to Ron, leaning in closer to Hermione in the process. "So, what exactly is going on with you two? Anything that should have me concerned?" He asked this quieter than normal, as to not alert the others, which meant his face was close enough so that Hermione could detect a whiff of his expensive cologne. It was intoxicating for sure, forcing her to pause for half a moment to recover.

"Is that jealousy I detect, Draco Malfoy?" She took her butterbeer in her hand and sipped carefully.

"Jealousy is for the weak."

"Precisely."

They both held gazes for some time until someone stepped up beside the table and sat down on Hermione's other side in the vacant seat, saying, "Now this is a sight I didn't expect to see."

Before Hermione even had the chance to turn around, Ginny exclaimed, "Charlie!"

Ron, from behind Draco, popped his head up from his mug of butterbeer. "Charlie?"

Hermione spun around in her chair, eyes as wide as saucers. "Charlie."

Charlie Weasley, in all of his rugged glory, shot Hermione a flirtatious wink. "Heya."


	25. Confessinos of a Galleonaire Playboy

**Whoops...I updated this on fanfiction but not on here...be prepared for 2 chapters in a row...**

 

**Y'all, the amazing feedback and positivity surrounding this fic has me shook. Tango took first place in "Best Love Story" and "Best Relationship Development" in the Enchanted Awards. I cannot thank you enough. From the bottom, top, sides, all of my heart - thank you.**

**LondonsLegend deserves all of the love for beta'ing this chapter for me, and LightofEvolution for encouraging me to keep on keeping on, even when I feel at my lowest.**

I won't make you wait so long for the next chapter.  
With love,  
~A.

* * *

**All confessions**

**are odysseys.**

**~Raymond Queneau**

* * *

**Center Stage: Hermione Granger and company**

**Setting: The Wormy Dog**

* * *

Hermione was a gifted woman, far beyond the strengths of her peers. But sitting here, between two of the sexiest bachelors to ever walk the streets of Diagon, her brain short circuited. Men were  _not_  her strong suit, especially when one was a previous wedding date to the other's now-canceled nuptials.

Charlie Weasley smiled comfortably, engulfing Hermione in a ferocious hug between his stunningly strong arms, his beard tickling her cheek. She remembered  _why_  it was Charlie to send her hormones into a frenzy before the slick-talking Slytherin beside her ever showed an ounce of interest; Charlie had all of the familiarities of home with the added bonus of dangerous dragon tamer. Hermione found herself inhaling his scent with vigor before he pulled back and kissed her on the cheek. It was innocent enough, but Draco's chilling quirk of an eyebrow was enough to make her feel as if she'd been caught with her hands down Charlie's pants.

 _Now wouldn't that be a sight_?

"Charlie!" said Ginny again, "What the devil are you doing here?"

"I wasn't going to miss my baby sister's game, was I?" he asked, producing something small from his vest pocket and enlarging it: a bouquet of flowers, to which he handed to Ginny. "Shame it got canceled on account of the storm, though."

"You traveled all the way from Romania to watch my game?" Ginny asked, tearing up. Quickly, she dashed over and flung her arms around Charlie. "Thank you!"

Hermione glanced over to Harry, who kept fidgeting with something in the breast pocket of his coat. She didn't have time to dwell on it, though, before Draco cleared his throat and stood up from the table. "Excuse me. Need to use the loo." He left rigidly, causing all those at the table to exchange careful glances before all eyes fell on Hermione.

"What?" she finally sighed, exasperated.

"Malfoy? Really, Hermione?" asked Ron, stuffing some peanuts into his mouth and asking what everyone else was thinking.

"Yes? And?"

"And he doesn't give a flying fig about any of us," said Harry. "So what's he doing here?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes, smacking her palm on the table. "Oh  _really_ , boys. Are you going to be childish  _now_?"

Ron pretended to ponder her question for half a moment before decidedly nodding. "Yup. Where Malfoy's concerned."

"I happen to know for a  _fact_  that you and Draco have gotten along on multiple occasions-"

"That was before he made me puke slugs!" Ron protested.

"Well, you were caught snogging his fiance!" Hermione whispered loudly, trying not to draw the attention of the other patrons in the facility.

"She was snogging me!" Ron whispered back, albeit louder than Hermione.

"I've seemed to miss  _quite_ a lot," said Charlie, blinking between the two with an expression that could only be described as perplexed.

"I'll say," said Neville. "I'm just as confused."

"Maybe this isn't the best time to be talking about this," said Ginny, leaning over Hermione and swatting Ron upside the head. "Honestly, Ron. You always have the worst timing. And besides, George told me he saw you and Astoria Greengrass leaving the joke shop together last week."

"You what?" Hermione whipped her head around, catching the paling face of Ron.

"I...er...we're just...friends."

"Friends, is it?" continued Ginny. "Seems you're getting awfully friendly with someone who recently made a comeback to the menu again."

"Oy, oy! First of all, don't talk about her like she's a dinner plate." Ron shook his finger at Ginny. "And two, why can't I be friends with her? Hermione's over here  _canoodling_  with Malfoy-"

"I am  _not_  canoodling with him!" Hermione protested. "We are  _friends._ " Saying it out loud, she realized how ridiculous it was, same as Ron. Although...had Ron and Astoria…? He was wearing that 'just been shagged' face...Hermione knew that one. She'd given it to Ron often in their days together. Thinking about him and Astoria in bed together...ew. No. She didn't want to ponder it.

"Hey, now. Wasn't I supposed to be a date to these two's wedding?" asked Charlie, more amused than anything else.

"You were," said a cool, collected voice from the side. Draco had arrived back at the table, his arms folded over his chest. "I'm  _ever_  so glad my failures could be displayed like this for idle chit-chat."

"That's not what we were doing," Hermione insisted, shaking her head, her cheeks hot with blood.

"Wasn't it?"

"Listen here, Malfoy," said Ginny, grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him back down in his seat, causing his eyes to widen and his mouth to gape slightly at the feeling of being put off balance. "No one here likes a brooder. You and Astoria made your bed. We all - well,  _most_  of us," she glanced over to Neville and Charlie, "know about it because we had to witness that disaster of a luncheon. So, instead of pointing fingers at us, know that we're holding your secrets close to our chests, and you best play nice this evening if you want that to continue."

Ron leaned over to Neville. "She's right mean when she's denied a game."

"Are we clear, Malfoy?"

Draco narrowed his eyes, scanning them over Ginny with ferocity. Then, to Hermione's amazement, they softened slightly, and he mumbled out, "Fine, I suppose. Far be it from me to piss on your parade."

"Thank you."

She relaxed her posture, stood back upright, and turned to Charlie. "A butterbeer, Char?"

"Firewhiskey, actually," he replied back. "I don't know if I can get through the night without it. Seeing a Malfoy dining out with the Weasleys…"

"Thankfully, not  _all_  of you," Draco smirked, toasting the table.

Hermione rolled her eyes, settling herself back into her chair with a decided stance on staying and not tearing out the door like she so desperately wanted to. The next half hour went off without a hitch, though neither she nor Draco had much to offer the table in terms of conversation. It didn't help that Charlie had taken to scooting his chair as close to Hermione as he could, draping his arm over the splat and, inadvertently, her shoulders.

Eventually, Charlie changed the subject back around to Draco once more. "So, do I still get to count myself as a plus one to your 'wedding of the century', Malfoy? Or has that dragon left the nest for brighter adventures?"

"Charlie-" Hermione warned, but Draco cut her off.

"No, it's alright. No use toeing around the issue." Draco leaned back and nudged Ron in the shoulder. "Weasley can attest to the separation of Astoria and I, can't you, Weaselbee?" Something like a guilty look filtered across Ron's face as he sat straight up in his chair, choking on his butterbeer.

"P-Pardon?"

"I seem to recall hearing through the grapevine that you and Astoria have been spending  _quite_  a bit of time together."

"I-I...I dunno about that...oh, I, uh, I think Neville's signalling me." Ron jumped up from his seat and rounded the other end of the table, over next to Harry and Neville, who were deep in conversation with each other. Draco wore a satisfied smirk worthy of his bullying youth, but he said nothing else on the subject.

That was, until Hermione asked, "Do I want to know?"

"Honestly? Probably not."

"So, fresh on the market then, Malfoy?" asked Charlie. "Bugger, I hope it was a decent break up, at the least."

"It was. And 'on the market' isn't quite the way I'd put it." Draco dragged his eyes over Hermione for half a moment.

"Well, welcome to the bachelor's club, in any case." Charlie stood from his seat. "First round's on me. Come on. You look as if you could use a drink." Before Draco could protest, Charlie had yanked him out of his seat and dragged him over to the bar top, leaving Hermione to herself. It took no time at all for Ginny to take Draco's vacant seat.

"Tough spot, Hermione," she said, glancing at Draco and Charlie. "At least they're getting along?"

"For now," Hermione commented, sipping on her butterbeer to keep herself occupied. "But this night isn't about me, anyway. How are  _you_ feeling?"

"A little better. To be perfectly frank, I'm a bit sloshed." Ginny gigled into her hand. "And Harry's acting rather odd this evening, have you noticed?"

"Has he?" The curly haired brunette darted her eyes over to Harry, who looked to be sweating up a storm, still patting his breast pocket every few moments and glancing at Ginny between them. Hermione's eyes went wide.  _No._  Surely he didn't intend to…? Not tonight of all times? "I'm sure he's just thinking," she muttered, her gaze traveling back over to Draco, who was kicking back a shot of something with Charlie and laughing. What parallel universe had she fallen into where Draco Malfoy drank with a Weasley and Ginny hadn't put the pieces of Harry's plan together yet? Her head swam, either from the alcohol or the turn of events, and Hermione rested her forehead on the table.

"Hermione? Are you alright?"

"This night isn't going at all like I imagined it would."

"And how did you imagine it?" Ginny asked. "Besides my game, of course. - Oh. You mean Malfoy." She tapped her fingers on the table next to Hermione's head. "Yes, this is all rather...bemusing."

"I'll say."

"...I see you didn't follow my advice."

"What are you talking about? Hermione's muffled voice could be heard against the table. "I haven't  _done_  anything with him."

"I never said you did. But you're getting yourself mixed up in this. Too deep. You've gone and caught feelings, haven't you?"

"...No...Yes…"

" _Hermione_ -"

"Don't start," Hermione whined, stealing a glance at Draco, who genuinely looked interested in whatever Charlie was saying to him.

"Just make sure you're not playing with too much fire. A little is fine, but enough will get you burned."

"You sound like your mother."

Ginny gasped. "Take that back! Take that back right now, Hermione!"

Hermione finally sat upright again, sticking her tongue out childishly and laughing quietly, like she used to when they were younger. It actually felt  _good_  to be so sassy - she'd nearly forgotten how to do it.

When Charlie and Draco arrived back at the table, taking their respected seats on either side of her, Draco slid her a bubbly, blue concoction in a shot glass and smirked. "Drink up."

"What is it?" she asked skeptically.

"A 'blue phoenix.' Figured it sounded worth a shot - and it was  _expensive_ , so don't you dare turn it down."

Charlie leaned in, clapping an arm on Hermione's back lightly. "Our Hermione's got grit. Don't you?"

Determined, Hermione nodded, picked up the glass, and threw the contents back in one gulp. The mixture bubbled in her mouth, but she swallowed it up, impressed by the taste. "It's like sweet tarts."

"Like what?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Muggle sweet."

"Ew."

"I have to say, Hermione, you're going to have to break him out of those muggle-hating habits if you two are dating now." Charlie leaned back in his chair and toasted his new mug of butterbeer in their direction.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "If we're-? What? What did you-?"

 _Dink, dink._ Harry stood up from the table, patting his pocket  _yet again_  and interrupting the current conversations. His face was sallow, slightly sweaty, and he was looking to Ginny as if he might throw up.

 _He's really going to_ , Hermione thought.

"If...if I could have everyone's  _(hiccup)_ attention." Harry reached his arm out, ushering Ginny to stand by his side. The next moment, he was a nervous puddle of shaking as he took her hand in his and said, "I was going to do this at the game, but...well, our lives haven't gone according to plan ever, have they?" He laughed nervously, reaching into his vest and producing the ring he and Hermione selected that day back in Diagon Alley. Harry wasted no time in dropping to his knee, almost knocking a chair over in the process. All eyes were on them as he continued, "Gin, I-"

"Yes!" Ginny exclaimed, nodding like a bobble head doll, tears in her eyes.

"Really? You haven't even heard my speech." Harry sounded a bit disappointed. "I worked really hard on it." His lower lip protruded out.

"Flub the speech, Harry Potter. If you're asking me to marry you, the answer will always be yes, no matter how you say it."

Now, Harry grinned like a chesshire cat. "Wish I had known that before I practiced in the mirror half the night last night…you sure?" As Ginny nodded in delight, he slid the ring on her finger and stood upright before scooping her up and kissing her in a drunken, sloppy fashion.

Around the table were shouts of joy. Ron was pale but applauding, and Charlie smiled with a knowing twinkle in his eye. No wonder he was back in town…

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed at once. "Why didn't you tell me it would be tonight?"

Harry stopped kissing Ginny for momentarily to laugh and reply, "Because Gin can always read you like a book, Mione."

Hermione sat back in her chair, dumbfounded. It  _was_  a good reason. Her heart was overjoyed - until she looked to her left and spotted Draco Malfoy staring at the newly engaged couple as if he'd been struck in the gut. He said not a word, simply gawking with a paleness not even known to  _him._  Eventually, Hermione reached over and placed her hand over his.

"Draco. A word?"

"Hmm?" He glanced her way. "What for?"

"Please?"

No one noticed as the two slipped out the front door into the rain outside. Hermione quickly summoned up an umbrella spell from the tip of her wand, giving them shelter from the pelting water falling over their heads. Draco was still quiet, staring at a puddle near their feet.

"You're hurting."

"Hurting...that's not the right word." He continued to stare at the puddle, shoving his hands in his pockets. "More like...reliving my greatest Hell." He stepped forward, as if to walk into the rain, but Hermione kept the umbrella over their heads, walking with him. They strode around the puddle as she followed him walking aimlessly down the street.

"Why did you tell Charlie we're dating?"

That caused him to stop in his tracks. He peered down to her. "Because we are."

"No we're-"

"Are you done lying to yourself, Hermione? Because I am." He turned his entire body toward her then, their bodies so close they could easily melt into each other. "Seeing those two get engaged...it didn't  _hurt._  It was a wake up call."

"What?" She tilted her head.

He sighed, struggling to find the right words. "I'm a failure."

Hermione never thought she'd hear the 'great' Draco Malfoy utter that sentence. And hearing it...it made her skin crawl. "Why would you say that?"

"Failed engagement. Failed at making a name for  _myself._  Failed at getting you to bloody well see-" He paused, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. It made her cheeks turn cherry pink. "I've been lying to you, Granger. And what's worse, I've been lying to myself for a long time. But I'm done with lying." He exhaled a shaky breath; the air was chilly, making it a puff of steam. "The truth is that I've fancied you well beyond the parameters of time I should have. I've had...thoughts about you. Dreams." It seemed it was his turn to blush, and he ducked his head slightly, less the cool Draco Malfoy from the magazines and more the shy boy who didn't know how to express himself. "I told Charlie Weasley we're dating, because we  _are._  If you don't see that by now, then you're dafter than I gave you credit for - and I don't believe you're daft."

Hermione hadn't realized her mouth was hanging open until she whispered, "Thank you." It seemed like an appropriate response. Maybe.

Draco smirked. "You're welcome."

"You...wait...you...you've fancied me? For a long time? Not just-"

"If running into you again has taught me anything, it's that I can't keep ignoring things that are right in front of my face. Astoria and I were broken for a long time - it took  _you_ to help me realize it. It took  _you_ to inspire me to do something with my talents."

"What you're getting at is that I inspire you?" Her head felt like it was swimming. It could have been due to that 'blue phoenix', but she had an inkling it was because of Draco. Okay, more than an inkling.

"Don't get a big head about it," he said, smirking wider as he patted her on the head. The hand trailed down to her cheek, where he brushed his thumb across her cheekbone with seduction only a galleonaire playboy could. But the look in his eye was endearing.

"Are you drunk?" Hermione asked suddenly.

Draco knitted his eyebrows together. "I'm tipsy, but no, nowhere near-"

Before he had a chance to finish, Hermione hooked her fingers into the collar of his shirt and dragged his face down, smashing her lips on his in a less than provocative but all-together telling kiss.

Seconds dragged on. Draco melted into her touch, his lips moving against hers.

When he pulled away, he had a ring of pink dusting his cheeks that Hermione wasn't used to seeing but wasn't complaining about either. Frankly, he looked adorably attractive just so.

"I really don't want to go back to that party," he said quietly.

Hermione licked her lips, her heart pounding. "Neither do I."

It took him a moment to find the words again, but when he did, he settled on three. "Dessert? My place?"

This time, Hermione didn't hesitate, though she did say, "How about mine?"

* * *

**Yesss...finally, a real lemon.**


	26. Dessert: Round Two

**Everyone's been so sweet to me, even when I had to take a small hiatus. I'm pleased to announce #TangoTuesday is back in session! Beta love to LondonsLegend!**

**~A.**

* * *

**"We should take this back to my place"**   
**That's what she said right to my face**   
**'Cause I want you bad**   
**Yeah, I want you, baby**   
**I've been thinking 'bout it all day**   
**And I hope you feel the same way, yeah**   
**'Cause I want you bad**   
**Yeah, I want you, baby**

**Slow, slow hands**   
**Like sweat dripping down our dirty laundry**   
**No, no chance**   
**That I'm leaving here without you on me**

**"Slow Hands" by Niall Horan**

* * *

**Center Stage: Hermione and Draco**

**Setting: Hermione's Apartment Complex**

* * *

They landed with a  _pop_  in the back alley of Hermione's apartment building, fingers twisted in each other's clothing and tongues meeting - a complete mess of hormones. Draco felt Hermione giggle against his mouth when he nearly tripped over his own feet as they arrived, but it didn't stop him from curling a sure hand around her waist, drunk not on ale but on the way she kissed him.

Merlin, how long had he wanted this, right here? To touch and be touched by Hermione Granger, to feel every inch of her pressed against him? Far too long. And now that it was a reality, all he could do was go with the flow, so to speak, and try not to make a bloody fool of himself.

"So...about this dessert," he whispered between kisses.

Hermione pulled away from his lips long enough to say, "Follow me," before taking his hand and leading him out of the alleyway and forcing them to walk into the building the muggle way. Draco hated it; every slow step put his nerves into a frenzy, and he wished to simply Apparate into her apartment before he was left a puddle of anxiousness on the floor. However, that sort of option was ruled out by the fact that  _muggles_  lived in this building, and any bit of magic would send them screaming down the stairs in a fit of confusion.  _Dolts,_  he thought.  _The lot of them._

When they arrived at the elevator, Draco felt his hands begin to sweat, so he feigned a yawn as an excuse to pry his hand from hers and casually wipe it down the back of his trousers. They waited for two sets of people to step off the elevator before Hermione dragged him in by his wrist and pressed him up against the elevator wall just as the door  _dinged_ shut.

"Hello," she said.

Draco smirked. "Hello. Not having second thoughts, are we?"

Hermione blinked once, rather serious. "No. Are you?"

"What?" He frowned. "Why would I?"

"Well, I'm just making sure."

The mood was doused out like candlelight. Draco grumbled as the elevator dinged back open and let three others onto the lift. Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair and watched Hermione straighten her stance and lean against the wall beside him, hands crossed over her front idly: the epitome of proper posture. Great. Now things were awkward. How the Hell was he supposed to come back from this?

_Ding._

"That's us," Hermione said, glancing up at him. "Coming?"

"Preferably more than once this evening," he teased, making her blush bright crimson as they stepped out of the lift and into the hallway. Onward they went until they arrived in front of her door. Draco didn't let her reach for her keys - he simply snapped his fingers, unlocked her door, and pushed it open with a wink. "Are  _you_  coming?" he asked, noting the way she stood stalk-still in the hallway.

Hermione cleared her throat, brushed her fingers through her curls, and muttered, "Preferably more than once this evening," right back to him before breezing past him in a hurry.

 _Oh, it's on_ , he thought, stepping across the threshold and shutting the door.

But, just like minutes before, his confidence waned the moment they were alone. Blast it, how in the seven Hells could Hermione Granger make him nervous like a sodding virginal school boy? She was a  _woman_ , and Draco had  _had_ women. So what was it?

Maybe it was the innocence in her eyes, or the way her lashes batted so delicately over her eyes, or the insecure stance she took as she walked over to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and chugged it down in five seconds flat.

"Alright?" he asked.

"Hmm? Mhmm," she nodded, wiping at the corners of her lips. "Yourself?"

"Fantastic."

"Wonderful."

The two stood awkwardly.

 _Shit._  It was like every strategy went out the window in her presence. They both knew what they  _wanted_  to happen, but how would he get them there? It certainly wasn't by gawking at her from the other side of the room.

"So-" A shrill alarm blared from somewhere nearby, and Draco withdrew his wand in a sweeping motion, quick as a lightning strike.

"Oh, that's my phone!" Hermione exclaimed, jogging over to the wall near the countertop, where a peculiar looking white box with a curved handle attached to a spiral cord rested at eye level. He watched her pry the handle off of the box and put it to her ear and mouth. "Hello?"

Wait...Draco vaguely remembered this from those odd muggle oddity shops in Diagon Alley. Muggles spoke to each other with those things, didn't they?

"Mum!" Hermione glanced over at Draco, mouthing the word, 'Sorry!' - "No, Mum, I'm fine. Yes, I know I didn't call last night...well, I was a bit busy…" She coiled the cord around her finger, leaning against the wall and turning her head away. "Yes, I know it's your birthday next week...no, I wasn't going to forget to call you then…" She sighed, a look of agitation crossing her features.

No, this wouldn't do it all - but maybe for a distraction? Draco might be able to work with this.

As Hermione continued to speak to her mother through that odd muggle thing known as a 'phone', he removed his blazer, set it on the counter, and began undoing the cuffs of his shirt. When he was through, he pretended to look about the room while making his way up behind her. Carefully, he brushed her curls off to one shoulder, exposing her neck as one of his hands snaked around her waist and rested against her belly button.

Hermione stiffened against him, but she continued to listen to her mother's nagging.

Draco smirked, for once thankful for nagging mothers as he dipped his head and rested a sensual kiss just below Hermione's ear. To his delight, she responded with a sharp intake of breath, fingers gripping the phone cord and tugging it tight. Yes, he could definitely work with this…

"No, mum, I'm not avoiding yo-" Hermione cut herself off when Draco licked a line with his tongue down the length of her neck, pulling her back against his chest. He finished with a small nibble at the exposed skin of her shoulder before trailing back up with delicate kisses to her ear. "C-Can I call you back?" He nipped at her earlobe with his teeth. "Mm-Mum, I need to call you back." She slammed the handle back against the box, tilting her head further to the side. "You have  _no_  self-control, do you?"

"Of course, I do," he chuckled. "I haven't ripped your clothes off yet, have I?"

"If you ripped this shirt, I would be  _thoroughly_  miffed at you."

"Ooh, I bet you'd teach me a lesson." He was just about to press his lips to her neck again when Hermione suddenly veered out of his grasp, spun around, and pointed a finger at him.

"Wait."

Draco sighed. "What now?"

"Well," she paused. "I think we should...discuss...things."

"Like?"

"Like...what all of this means. What  _dessert_  means to you. Because…" She puffed out her chest slightly. "I'm not a one-stop candy shop."

He  _tried_  his best not to snort with laughter as he rolled his eyes. "Hermione, come here." He reached out and took her by the hand. "You're really making me work for this, aren't you?" he asked as he led her out of the kitchen and into her quaint living room.

"Yes, well...I like to know all of the variables."

"Mhmm," he nodded, smirking. He remembered that the last time he was here, Hermione showed him how a record player worked. Tonight, he left Hermione just short of the sofa, strolled over to said record player, and with a flick of his wand set the needle onto the record already inside. The music was lively, upbeat jazz, but Draco didn't care. He could work with just about anything. He made his way back over to the sofa and took a seat. "Come here."

"Pardon?"

"I'm  _fairly_ certain you're not hard of hearing." He patted his lap. "Come here."

"I-I-" But he didn't give her a chance, using a slight bit of wandless magic to drag her forward and nearly collapse into his lap, legs splayed on either side of his hips and arms caging his face as her fingers dug into the headrest of the sofa. His smirk widened at the scathing expression on her face.

"You're  _not_  a...what was it?" He reached up, brushing the back of his fingers down her cheek. " _One stop candy shop?_  Whatever that means."

"Then what am I to you?" she asked, eyes twinkling.

"You're Granger." When she scowled, he added, " _My_  Granger." He moved his fingers down to her hips and pulled her forward, until their pelvises rested against each other. "And I don't share what's mine. More importantly, I don't stray from what's mine." His thumb pads brushed along the skin just underneath her shirt. "Does that answer suffice?"

Hermione nodded timidly.

"Good. Now, can I have my dessert? Or have I not been good enough?"

The smallest of smiles trailed over the corners of her lips, and she leaned forward, tucking her face into the crook of his neck to plant kiss after tender kiss up his neck, her fingers moving to the buttons of his shirt. Oh yes, this would do just nicely. Draco let her take her time, working every button with careful attention. He didn't want to push the envelope and spook her - Merlin knows how long it would take him to get back in her good graces again if he did that, so he let her set the pace, though his fingers twitched at the opportunity to respond.

When the last button of his shirt was undone, Draco helped her slip the sleeves down his arms, but he paused momentarily at his forearms, hesitating only a moment. But the look in Hermione's eyes was kind, and he let her push the sleeves all the way down and over his wrists, exposing the scarred remains of his Dark Mark.

No, it wasn't the first time she'd seen it. There had been plenty of time for her to get a gander at his greatest shame, but he'd never willingly exposed himself like this to her. Hermione, as if sensing his apprehension, wrapped her slender fingers around his wrist and brought his arm up between their gazes. Their eyes connected, and she didn't break her stare for one moment as she began to kiss down his Mark over and over again, moving from his elbow toward his wrist.

Draco gasped, partially out of shock, partially because it felt so... _good._  He didn't want to think about Astoria, not now, but he did make the connection that she'd never kissed him like this - not on his  _Mark_.

He fought the urge to bite his lower lip like a sissy and instead reached up with his free hand and tucked a strand of Hermione's curly hair behind her ear just before she began lapping at his Mark with her tongue.

"Oh,  _fucking Merlin_ ," he gasped, stunned.

"Scars are sensitive," she whispered, a confidence about her that wasn't there before. "Most people consider it a bad thing, but…"

"Keep going," he encouraged with a raspy voice. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back while Hermione returned to her work, tracing the marred snake and skull with that  _surprisingly_  skillful tongue of hers. This was so different, and yet…Draco loved it. Loved the intimacy of it.

Her lips kept moving along their path, finally making it to his wrist, where she kissed along his pulse point before leaving a few softer ones on his palm. Draco cupped her face and ushered it forward until their noses touched. The music changed to a slower song with a melting tempo, matching their moods.

Hermione reached up to his hand and guided it down to her waist, along with the other one, hinting. It didn't take him long to figure it out as he pushed the fabric of her shirt up her stomach, revealing the smooth skin there. His hormones rejoiced as she lifted her arms and let him pry the offending garment from over her head, his senses heightening. Draco's eyes immediately raked down her throat, collarbone, to her breasts, covered in just a thin strap of lace called a 'bra'. Draco understood a bra's purpose, but as a man, he found them entirely unnecessary. Still, he could appreciate this one with its barely-there padding. No teases, just the good stuff. And it was  _red_.

He said not a word as he watched her reach behind her and unhook the back of it - only enjoyed the slow reveal of her tantalizing breasts as they were revealed. Everything about Hermione's breasts, from her small but pert nipples to the way they rose and fell with her breathing was something to be admired.

Draco wasted no time in reaching up to feel them, cup them; finally, after all this time, he could do what he wanted. His thumbs rubbed over her hardening nipples, and he scooted forward, eyeing her carefully before capturing one in his mouth. Her skin tasted delightful, and she smelled of apples and vanilla. Draco took his time, laving his tongue over the nub as he worked his other hand in gentle, kneading motions.

Hermione moaned softly above him, her hips rocking automatically.

"Yes," she sighed, her fingers wrapping into the locks at the back of his head, pulling his face closer, encouraging him to suck harder. He flicked his tongue, reveling in the way she sighed, as if only  _he_ could make her feel this way. And in reality, Draco wished that was the case. He wasn't entirely sure when or how it happened, but Hermione Granger was as iconically ingrained in his life as snow in the winter or tea to Britain.

And, like this, she was twice as beautiful as he'd ever seen her.

His hips began to rock gently with hers, his cock strained inside his trousers. But the friction they created was worth it - there was something so  _exciting_  about the new exploration of sex with someone, and he wondered if she was loud or soft? A leader or a follower? Did she like it rough, being pounded from behind, or was she traditional, arching her back as she rode him? What was Hermione Granger like in bed? Draco  _really_  wanted to know.

Soon, their mouths met again, and when they did, a sensual side of Hermione came out to play. Her fingers began to explore his chest, shoulders, abdomen, anywhere she could touch. Each stroke of her fingertips against his skin lit him from inside, charging his sexual energy like static electricity. He could hardly contain himself when she began working at his trouser fasten, expertly unhooking it with ease.

"Eager much?" he teased.

"As if you're not enjoying it," she replied coyly.

"Beautiful girl trying to get me starkers. What's not to enjoy? Though it does feel one sided." He rolled his hips up, grinding against her. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Which one of us should I be focusing on undressing? You can't eat your cake and have it, too, Draco." She giggled.

"Isn't the expression have your cake and eat it, too?"

"Actually, no. People have just been saying it wrong for centuries." Hermione nodded dutifully, as if an educational lesson was commonplace when trying to discard clothing.

"Ever the bookworm, aren't you?" he teased. "Alright then. You first. What sort of skivvies does the famous Hermione Granger wear?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "You really want to know?"

He nodded. "Please."

Slowly, Hermione pushed herself up off of the sofa and stood in front of him, reaching for the button of her jeans. Draco waited, taking her in, thinking to himself how wonderful she would look drizzled in chocolate syrup and sprinkles.  _One step at a time_ , he told himself, watching her shimmy her jeans down the sides of her hips. Much to Draco's astonishment -

"You see, Draco," she said, "the famous Hermione Granger wears  _no_  skivvies."

She was bare, and beautiful, and entirely too perfect for words, which escaped Draco like sand dripping through an hourglass. He  _did_ manage one word. "Fuck."

Hermione climbed back onto his lap, this time guiding his hand between her thighs to the place he'd longed to touch for months. If Draco thought he was hard before, it was  _nothing_  compared to now. "So wet already," he noted, letting his index finger slip between her folds. The heat alone had his dick aching to be inside her, but she was also  _dripping_ , which in turn had his cock leaking with precum.

Hermione was already tugging down the zipper of his trousers by now, glazed with an expression of lust. At the same time that she untucked his cock, Draco slipped a finger inside of her. Warm didn't begin to describe her quim - scorching, perhaps. He felt her constrict around his digit, watched the rise and fall of her chest and the way she chewed on her lower lip in eagerness. "Draco…"

Unhurriedly, he withdrew his finger and then filled her back up again, smirking as her eyes fluttered closed. This time, he curled it slightly and found the spot that made her gasp in pleasure.

"Is that it?" He leaned up and whispered against her throat. "Imagine my cock in you, hitting this spot over," he curled his finger again, pushing deeper and making her all-out moan, "and over again. I bet your pussy would be gushing for me by then, wouldn't it?" He added a second finger, stretching her further and preparing her for what was to come.

"A-Ah!" Hermione's forehead rested against his shoulder as her hips moved in time with his fingers.

"I can tell it's been a while," he said. "You're so  _tight._ "

Hermione's hips bucked forward automatically, her lips caressing anywhere they could manage between groans and gasps, and then - oh  _fuck._  Her fingers curled around his cock, and she began to  _move_ , pumping him with just enough grip to falter his concentration. She used his precum to lubricate her palm, paying careful attention to the head of his cock. Draco was on cloud nine, lazily fingering her while she jerked him off. It was even better because they took their time, exploring each other's pleasure points, neither one with the goal in mind to  _get off_ , simply  _feel good._

Draco knew when the time was right - Hermione's legs were quivering around his hips, her lower lip caught between her teeth. She looked beautiful like this, but he wanted to make her  _feel_  beautiful, too. And while he wasn't good with words, there was one way he knew how to express himself.

"Ready for dessert?" he whispered.

Hermione nodded, sighing gently when he removed his fingers. Draco let her scoot forward, hovering just above his cock, both nervous and excited. First times weren't perfect - they were awkward and nerve wracking, but as far as Draco was concerned, this was as close as he could manage. He didn't remember being this nervous, even when losing his v-card, but it made the sensation that much sweeter when Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and filled herself to the brim with him.

"Fuck…"

"Hermione Granger uses foul language?" he managed, trying to distract himself from the cozy haven that was inside her pulsing quim.

"Mmm...that's not the only thing I do," she whispered, pulling off of him to the tip before dropping down on him again.  _Tight. So tight._  Draco groaned, a wisp of bangs falling out of place against his forehead.

"Merlin." Draco chewed on the inside of his cheek and prepared himself as she repeated the motion, slower. "Ohh…"

"Draco Malfoy moans?"

The shallowest of smirks played across his lips. "What is it you said?" He jerked his hips up, taking her by surprise and forcing a cry of pleasure from her lips. "That's not the only thing I can do."

"S-Something like that."

Their hips moved with each other, building up an offbeat rhythm, experiencing each other's highs and lows, testing the water. Draco discovered Hermione loved it when he jerked his hips, and she figured out that dropping herself quickly onto his cock turned him into a wobbling mess of nerves. She liked having her nipples pinched, and he loved the way she suckled along his pulse point, leaving bruises.

And, above all else, they both loved moving in time with the music. Each rise and fall of the tempo commanded their bodies - every crescendo, every diminuendo took control of how they kissed, touched, and reacted to each other.

During a particularly chaotic song, Draco scooped her up, flipped her over, and began pounding into her from behind over the armrest of the sofa, causing it to scrape along her carpet until it bumped into her side table. Neither seemed to care; Hermione was too busy screaming into the cushion, and Draco was occupied trying not to come inside her. To be honest, if he hadn't given himself a good wank earlier in the day, there would be no way he'd have been able to last as long as he had so far. But he knew he didn't have much willsave left, so when the tempo changed to something slower, he pulled her back down on top of him on the carpet, knocking over an empty cup and a couple of magazines from the coffee table in the process. His ankle was to blame, and he felt it already beginning to bruise as he pushed past the pain and concentrated his efforts on making her come.

Hermione was a natural on top, and the view of her breasts as she bounced had Draco pinching the inside of his thigh, straining every bit of willpower he had. "S-Slow down," he muttered, "Or I'm gonna…"

She giggled, leaning forward, indeed slowing down, but only ever so slightly. "Been a while for you, too?"

To save face, he forced a smirk on his face, grabbed her hips, and thrust roughly up into her, making her scream. "Ooh, lookie there. Not as out for the count as you thought."

"Again," she whispered, digging her fingernails into his pectorals.

Draco was happy to oblige. The moan coaxed from her throat was music to his ears - the neighbors might not appreciate it, but who had time for silencing spells when they had such a sexy delight riding them? Maybe the neighbors could learn a thing or two…It wasn't long until Hermione was a panting mess above him. And truth be told, Draco wasn't much better.

Something overcame him, and he leaned up on his elbows, pressing their foreheads together. He knew it wasn't in his best interest, and it took a  _lot_  of concentration, but he  _needed_  to know what was going on in her mind. Using his Legilimency, he pushed against the forefront of her mind and breached it.

_Pleasure. Merlin, she was a wreck inside her mind. She could barely comprehend thoughts, but the feelings…_

"Draco…"

 _He pushed further, searching for one memory in particular and drawing it out for the both of them to see. It was Hermione's dessert dream from_ that  _night with her splayed in front of him and Draco feasting between her thighs like she was the main course._

"This...this is…" Hermione gasped, caught somewhere between shock and satisfaction. "H-How do you know about…"

"Slight confession," he muttered between thrusts, "I  _might_  jack off to this dream in the shower every morning."

"F _-Fuck_."

She crumbled and came apart like a freshly baked sugar cookie, a quivering mess of moans.

Draco didn't hold back - the way she tightened around him forced him over the edge, and he came inside of her, losing focus of her memories as the world imploded and fizzled into a simmering cauldron of raw energy.

"Holy...Hell…" He kissed her lips breathlessly.

Hermione melted into his chest, and he could, with confidence, say they were both wrecked.

"Y-You...you looked into my mind that night."

"...I did."

"That's an invasion of privacy."

"Maybe you should learn to better equip yourself with Occlumency."

"Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up and kiss me."

* * *

**Leave a thought? Pretty please?**   
**~A.**


	27. Enter: The Black Mamba

**#TangoTuesday is back, as promised!**   
**I hope you love it.**   
**Beta love to LondonsLegend!**   
**By the way, do you get the joke in the title of this chapter? You should by the end...**

* * *

**"A worried mother does better research than the FBI."**   
**~Unknown**

* * *

**Stage Left: Ron and Astoria**   
**Setting: His flat**

* * *

"Do you think pygmy puffs know how cute they are?"

"Pardon?" Astoria was finishing her buttered toast across the foldable table in Ron's kitchen, but she couldn't bring herself to take the last bite because she was so taken aback by his question.

"Pygmy puffs," he said, chewing on his bread as if he had not a care in the world.

"Yes, I understood you. That was just...extremely random."

"I think it's a legitimate question. We sell a few of them in the joke shop." Ron took his time to pour himself another glass of orange juice. "I was cleaning their cages last night and thought about it. What if they  _know_  they're cute? You know? There's this one -Randal. He's a cheeky bugger if ever there was one, but any time he bites me, he just blinks those beady little eyes and -  _boom_! I'm suckered right back in."

Astoria blinked. "You are too adorable for your own good."

With a blush that could have rivaled the color of his hair, Ron Weasley choked on his orange juice, set his cup down, and gave a lopsided smile. "Thanks."

"Which is why…" She wrung her hands together, anxious and excited for her next words. "I think we should go public."

If eyes could literally pop out of their sockets, Ron's would have been on the floor. But, as it were, it was only figurative. Still, he looked quite comical as his eyebrows shot up to his hairline and his mouth slacked. "...Really?"

"Yes, really."

He, quite literally, looked like he'd been hit with a proper stunning spell. "That's a relief."

Astoria quirked a brow. "Is it?"

"I wasn't sure if what we were doing was just a way to relieve some sexual tension for you or not." Quickly, he added after sensing her withering expression, "N-Not that it was ever that way for me!"

"Mhmm…"

"Aren't you worried what...I dunno...Malfoy's family will say? Or your own?"

"Well, seeing as how Draco and Miss Granger seem to be having their own tryst, I don't see what difference it will make." Crossing her arms, Astoria blew a strand of hair out of her face and set her eyes on Ron.

Ron was careful with his next words. "...Sounds to me like it gets under your skin."

"It isn't that…" She shook her head. "It's...I want Draco to be happy. And I  _also_  want to be happy. But we've been so busy trying to not hurt our families, how can either of us say we're truly happy unless we come out of the woodwork and  _tell_  other people…" She paused, realizing her ramblings. "Unless you don't see us that way."

"Huh?"

"If this is purely physical, I'd rather you tell me now."

Scratching the side of his cheek, Ron leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "Blimey, it isn't like that at all, Astoria. I  _like_  you. I'm only worried what others might think about you dating...well... _me._ " From the tip of his nose to the tip of his ears, he glowed crimson. "You sure you wanna come out and tell the world you're dating  _me_?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Hermione got a lot of slag for dating me when the papers found out about it. Sure, we were both war heros, but…"

Oh. "You're worried what others in my social class will think of me if I date someone of lower income?"

Wincing, Ron cleared his throat. "Something like that…"

"The Greengrasses are  _not_  the Malfoys." Astoria stood up and walked around to the other side of the table, plopping herself in his lap. "And to anyone who actually cares about that sort of thing, I say they can all go...what's the way the Americans say it? Screw off?"

Ron smirked. "Alright...yeah, I can run with that. One condition, though." He threw up his index finger. "I wanna take you on a proper date. You know - dinner, maybe some music…"

A kiss on the cheek was his reward as Astoria beamed with happiness. "I would love that, Ronald Weasley."

"Uhh...just 'Ron' is fine."

"I happen to like Ronald."

"Yeah...you and my Mum."

* * *

**Center Stage: Narcissa Malfoy**   
**Setting: The Malfoy Manor**

* * *

_Tap. Tap. Tap._  How long must she wait idly for her son to return home? Narcissa folded her hands on the office table near the floo and stared down at the same business proposal for the sixth consecutive time. Words blurred. All she could do was wonder  _where_  Draco was at this exact moment when he had clearly made an appointment to meet with her this morning.

She had a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that it all had to do with that  _Granger_  girl. Ever since that debacle in the papers, Draco had been a lust-struck puppy in Hermione Granger's presence, ignoring his conscience and his duties. What was worse was that Astoria, bless that child's heart, had  _let_  him wander astray as she, herself, landed in the arms of a  _Weasley._

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she scooted her chair back and turned sideways in it, glancing over at the portrait of her late husband, Lucius, on the wall. "Our son has pressed every one of my buttons today and without being present, no less. It  _must_  be a new personal best for him."

Portrait Lucius tilted his head thoughtfully. "Cissy, you know as well as I do that boy has always had his head in the clouds. I do recall, on more than one occasion, him trying to implement a  _drama club_  into the Hogwarts curriculum his third and fourth year."

"Perhaps he would have done well as a Gryffindor, the bold sod."

"Come now, Cissy. You mustn't say such brash things out of anger." The portrait Lucius smirked, folding his arms behind her back, exactly the way  _he_  used to. It was comforting, and chilling, but Narcissa welcomed the nostalgic movement nonetheless.

"I need to get a handle on this situation. At this rate, the wedding will be cancelled. It's that  _damn_  swot. Doesn't he understand he's just a foolish man with cold feet?" With a heavy sigh, Narcissa glanced at the clock above the mantle once more and aggressively produced her wand before giving it a wave, shattering a nearby vase.

"That was my mother's…" said the portrait Lucius.

Smirking, Narcissa replied, "I know."  _Tap. Tap. Tap._  This time, it was her wand flicking against the desk. "If I can't reach that child with logic, I will reach him with actions." She turned her sights on her stationary parchment. "Lu, where did we keep the Malfoy seal?"

* * *

**Stage Right: Draco and Hermione**   
**Setting: Hermione's flat**

* * *

Rolling over on her side, Hermione welcomed the sunlight peeking in through the curtains as she prepared to face another day. Her mind groggy, she didn't realize there was an arm wrapped around her until she stretched and nearly knocked someone in the nose with her elbow. - No, not just someone.  _Draco._

Images filtered into her mind, one after the other.

Oh. Oh, yes. They'd come back to her place for dessert last night. And he'd stayed...the entire night? Not that she was complaining, but she certainly hadn't expected it. It was endearing, to say the least. Carefully, she turned over, making sure to be mindful of his body placement as she snuggled into the arm tucked under her neck and stared at the serene expression on his face.

 _Like an angel,_ she thought,  _if angels had strikingly beautiful cheekbones and a devilish smirk, even when asleep._  Hermione cautiously leaned forward, pressing her lips to his just to confirm that this was indeed real, and he wasn't going to disappear from her imagination like a puff of smoke. Much to her delight, his lips were warm and tangible, and they kissed her back after a moment or two, his eyes prying open to meet hers.

When Draco pulled his face away, he was no longer smirking but smiling instead. "Just couldn't resist, could you?"

"Come again?"

"Kissing me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It was to test a theory."

"Isn't that how you approach everything?" he quipped back, tightening his hold on her and pulling her flush against him, nose to nose and chest to naked chest. Oh, dear...had she forgotten to put her pajamas on last night before falling asleep? Well, she  _had_  been rather exhausted...after all, there had been a round two, and a short round three.

"How did you sleep?" she asked, trying not to open her mouth too wide in fear that there might be the dreaded morning breath. Of course, he still smelled like perfection.

"Like a boulder. You?"

"Very well. Of course, if  _someone_ hadn't kept me up half of the night, I might have liked to sleep a bit more."

His lips twitched happily. "I won't apologize."

"Isn't that how  _you_ approach everything?"

The two of them broke out into a mild laughter that ended in a few more lazy kisses. Hands roamed and touched. It was quite natural, Hermione thought, laying next to him. Strange, considering that she never had gotten used to sleeping next to Ron. But that might have had something to do with his snoring…

"Hungry?" she asked.

"Famished."

"I have eggs - and toast with jam."

"Hmm, I'm thinking something a bit more upscale. There's this delicious breakfast nook in Tuscany."

Hermione frowned. "No."

"No?"

She corrected herself. "No,  _thank you_. I...we don't always have to go to lavish locations just to get a decent meal."

Draco pouted his lips, eyebrows knitting together like the spoiled Malfoy he was. "But I happen to  _like_  those lavish locations."

"Spoiled git."

"Conditioned know-it-all - who  _happens_  to not know what she's missing out on in Tuscany."

Sitting up, Hermione tried to stifle a laugh into the back of her hand. "I think I'll take my chances with my own eggs, thanks. Do you like them scrambled?"

"I love scrambled."

"Wonderful."

* * *

Four eggs and two pieces of toast with strawberry jam later, Hermione and Draco were full and quite content, seated on Hermione's sofa as she flipped through the channels of her television while Draco watched on, enchanted and equally appalled by the moving picture box.

"It's unnatural, you know. These 'TV's."

"So is magic."

"Only to muggles. To the rest of us, it's just as natural as breathing." He picked up his cup of water and nearly choked as it went down the wrong tube. Hermione laughed, patting him gingerly on the back.

"Yes, you're  _quite_  the natural."

"Sod off," he laughed between chokes. "Anything on the agenda today?"

"Work...but that isn't for another hour." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "You?"

"I'm showcasing my anti-depressant potion to a leading Potions Master in Wales today. If it gets his seal of approval, I can present it to my company for patenting."

" _Your_ company?" Her eyes drifted up to meet his. "I've never heard you claim it before."

"Yes, well...perhaps it's time," he said, as if that was that. But deep down, Hermione knew there was a mess of layers to that sentence. It was ridiculous to think a night of unbridled passion could be to blame for Draco's can-do-attitude, but it certainly might have  _given it a push._  "Wait - what time is it?"

Hermione clicked a button on the remote, broadcasting the time. "Ten o'two."

Draco flew straight up on the sofa, knocking Hermione off of him in the process; her head fell into his lap with a soft  _thud._  "Shit. I was supposed to meet Mother an hour ago."

"You may use the floo if you like," she offered, secretly saddened at the thought of him leaving so soon. But Hermione Granger wasn't one to hover or control, and she understood the importance of keeping to a schedule. Still...what was this aching feeling in her chest at the thought of him leaving?

"I'm sorry to cut this so short," he said to her, leaning forward and kissing her softly on the lips. "Make it up to you?"

"How?"

"Dealer's choice."

"...Am I the dealer, or are you?"

"Yes," he said with a wink, pulling her upright before standing up from the sofa. He left her with a few more kisses sprinkled from the sides of her lips to the middle of her forehead, each one tender and sensual. With a wink, he retrieved his blazer from the kitchen counter and walked over to the fireplace, grabbing up a bit of floo powder from the mantle. "See you in dance class this afternoon?"

"Of course." With a flick of her hand, Hermione lit the fireplace to life with tall flames.

Smiling, Draco tossed the floo powder into the fire and stepped inside. He was gone within a second, and that nagging feeling in Hermione's chest arose again.

Would it be like this every time he left? Hermione both hoped not and looked forward to it again.

* * *

**Center Stage: ENTER Draco Malfoy into the snake pit.  
Setting: Malfoy Manor, cont.**

* * *

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. How could he have been so careless? Draco arrived with a less than dignified entrance, inhaling small bits of floo powder and choking on them as he stepped out of the floo and into the den. Prim and proper, Narcissa Malfoy sat on the settee in the center of the room, reading a thick stack of parchments a high heel deep with a grin spread wide across her fine-featured face.

"Hello, dear. Late start to the morning?"

"Mother, I am  _very_ sorry for being late," Draco started, brushing soot off of his pants. "I didn't realize the time."

"Were there no clocks in Miss Granger's home?"

Tension struck him in the chest, and Draco's insides coiled like a snake preparing to strike. "How did you know where I was?"

"I didn't. But now I do."

Shit. "How very Slytherin of you, Mother."

"I'm simply living up to our family name, Dear. Unlike  _someone_  in this room." She pursed her lips together, and just as Draco was about to snap back with a rebuttal, she continued, "No matter, however. While you were off sewing your wild oats, as the commoners sa-" Wild oats? Draco wasn't bedding half of Britain! Just one, irresistible witch with untamable curls- "I've been busy." She smirked. " _Very_  busy."

Uh oh. Draco didn't like that look one bit. "What did you do?"

* * *

**Downstage Right: Ron Weasley**   
**Setting: Diagon Alley**

* * *

Ron approached Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes with a spring in his step and a grin on his lips. He had a date with Astoria at seven tonight, and he could hardly wait. First, he could take her to that jazz club down the road from Harry's - Astoria enjoyed muggle things, so it only seemed fitting. Then, he could pop by Mum's for a bit of apple tart. And then, if things really hit off, he'd-

"George?"

Ron caught sight of his brother standing in the middle of Diagon Alley's busy street, surrounded by boxes upon boxes of inventory, each being levitated or physically handled by a group of burly looking wizards in grey robes. George held in his hands a long parchment three feet in length, gawking like he'd seen a ghost.

"George, mate, what's going on?"

"Read it and weep, little brother. We've been ransacked."

"What?" Ron grabbed at the paper and yanked it out of George's hand, scanning his eyes over thick jargon and legal words. "I haven't a clue what any of this means."

"Our patent office was bought out by Malfoy Industries this morning, and they've changed bylaws," explained George, a stern expression written on his face. "In short, until we can apply for all new patents adhering to those bylaws, everything Weasley's Wizard Wheezes owns, aside from our local vendors, has been seized."

"Seized?" Ron gasped. "By who?"

"Malfoy Industries."

* * *

"You did  _what?"_

"What's with that cold expression, Draco?"

Draco was more than cold - he was  _shivering._  It was as if all of the heat had left his body in a flurry of anger and resentment. " _Why_?" he growled.

"It was a business decision - one I would have made with you here, had you been  _present._  As it was, I was all alone and proceeded to make the best possible business decision I deemed fit for the company. With this new patent company under our belt, we'll be able to-"

"I don't care what we'll be able to do. Give the Weasleys their products back."

"Such concern," Narcissa said with amusement. "And unfortunately, I cannot. Not without them filling out the proper paperwork and going through the proper channels...which will take months, unfortunately. And by that time, their money will have run out and...oh, dear. I just don't see them lasting through the summer, do you?" A smirk and a flip of the hair later, Narcissa Malfoy showed her true fangs to her son; they were as sharp as they were lethal, and she had no intention of not going for the kill. "I know this might upset you, seeing as how your new trinket is best friends with one of the store owners - Ron Weasley, yes?"

"Mother…" It was getting difficult for Draco to breathe as overwhelment took him. "Don't do this. Weasley, Granger - they saved my  _life_  once."

"They've saved countless lives - don't privy yourself to think yours means any more to them." Narcissa brushed her fingers lightly down her skirt and said, with a straightforward deathblow, "Their fates are already sealed. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes will close sometime within the next couple of months, legally and profitably for our company. That is, unless we were to come to some sort of...arrangement."

"I won't let you. I'll just-"

"-Pay their overhead costs until the patents are approved? Yes, I thought you might come to some conclusion, so I took the liberty of freezing all of your accounts in Gringotts. You won't be able to access a single Knut for the time being."

"What!?"

Now Draco wasn't just angry - he was  _furious._ And scared shitless.

"You can prevent all of this," his mother said, idly tapping her foot.  _Tap. Tap. Tap._

"By taking over the company?"

"Oh, no. Sorry. That's also tied up, until I see fit. No, what I want from  _you,_ my son, is a lesson in commitment." Her eyes almost glowed in the pale light of the room. "You will ask for Astoria's hand in marriage again and set aside this absurd  _thing_  you have with Miss Granger - or the Weasleys will bankrupt. It's your choice, Draco."

* * *

**Ack! I hope you like! (Ducks head) I really enjoyed writing this chapter a lot. It's been a long time coming. Ron's sentiment towards Pygmy Puffs is how I feel about my pets. XD**

**Please feel free to leave your thoughts! I gobble them up. You should always ignore the 'don't feed the artist' signs. Those are just there for legality reasons. :D**   
**~A.**


	28. Fancy Footwork

**Beta love to LondonsLegend,** alpha **love to LightofEvolution. Without these two extraordinary individuals, we wouldn't have this cunning plan hatched up. I am at their mercy, and I still think I owe them something for helping with the creativity of this plot.**  
**~A.**

**P.S.: THANK YOU FOR READING, EVERYONE! Ah, I'm still in amazement sometimes... All of my love.**

* * *

**Fake it**

**'Till you make it.**

**~Anonymous**

* * *

**Center Stage: Hermione, George, and Ron**  
**Setting: Ministry of Magic, Hermione's cramped office**

* * *

"That bloody sod!"

"Ronald, calm down."

"I'm gonna kill him."

"No, you're not."

"Yeah, I am, Hermione. I'm gonna blow him up into a million little pieces, reconfigure him back into his normal body shape, and then I'm gonna blow him up again like confetti!"

Hermione tapped her foot over and over again, trying to find something reasonable to say. All that she could sum up, however, was just about as much as Ron: Malfoy Industries had put a stopper in the Weasley's sales, and if something wasn't done, and quickly, the business would be doomed.

"Let me see the letter again?" she asked George, who stood in the corner of her office, staring at a corkboard collage of all the house elves Hermione had managed to free since her internship at the Ministry had begun. He didn't seem at all himself, usually being of a chipper disposition, but who could blame him? The business he'd started with his late brother, Fred, was on the chopping block, and none of them knew if Draco had any involvement in it. Surely he didn't...surely he  _wouldn't_. Not after last night...not after…

George slammed the crumpled scroll down on her desk, causing the cup of quills she kept on the edge to rattle. He crinkled his brows. "Sorry, Hermione."

"It's alright." Smoothing out the paper, she read the finer details, working out the worried creases. "I'm sure once Draco gets here, he will be able to sort all of this out." She  _hoped._  Hermione owled him the moment Ron and George arrived in her office and spilled the beans about what had happened; they'd hoped Hermione's quick thinking would be able to get them out of this jam, but the legalities were air tight. Until Malfoy Industries approved the new patent terms, every Demon Box, Extendable Ear, Fanged Frisbee, and countless other Weasley ideas were held at the mercy of an oversight in their previous contract. "Really, it's the damned wizarding way of doing things that's got you screwed out of your own sales," she muttered.

"Come again?" asked George curiously.

"Well, in the muggle world, all patents are regulated by the government."

Ron scratched the side of his stubbled face. "Meaning…?"

Hermione gave a rather large sigh. " _Meaning,_ if things ran like they did in the muggle world, the Ministry of Magic would regulate patents. As it is, patent companies are privately owned and regulated in the magical world. The patents are still on display for the public to see, but the issue is that the companies own a share of the profits for patenting and maintaining the products. And this one here," she wagged a finger in George's direction, "didn't read the fine print when signing on with his less-than-reputable patent company! If he had, he would have noticed the small article in subsection B that states if the ownership of the patents switches, an entirely new batch will need to be approved! And since wizarding patent companies own ten percent of whatever they help with…"

"Malfoy Industries bought out O'Patties Patenting," finished Ron, astounded.

"Couldn't we sell the items without the patents?" offered George.

"You could have  _if_ they weren't co-owned now. It's like shares in a stock market, but much harder to get rid of."

"You've lost me," Ron blurted out.

"I know I've explained the stock market to you before - do you ever listen?" Hermione snapped, and then hung her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Sorry, Ron. I'm just...sometimes I feel as if you Weasley men will be the death of me."

The door to her office swung open. "I certainly hope not. I thought driving you beyond the brink of sanity was  _my_ area of expertise." Draco stepped inside Hermione's catty-corner abode, ignoring the scathing expressions from all in the room. Well,  _nearly_  ignoring. "Who died?"

"You, in a moment, if you don't explain yourself," Ron growled quietly, crossing his arms to keep himself from throwing a curse in Draco's direction. Hermione fought the urge to stand up and greet him; she wasn't sure she could trust the Malfoy in front of her, but she wanted to. Desperately.

Their eyes met. Hermione's heart skipped a metaphorical beat.

"This is my mother's doing," he said to the room, but his eyes remained only on the witch in front of him, face etched with concern and humiliation, despite his casual Malfoy mask. "She saw an opportunity, and she took it."

"So...un-take it!" Ron snapped.

"I can't. She's got the board on her side, and she's cut me out of taking over until I 'prove myself worthy'." His eyes darted away for half a moment, and then they were back, full of frustration. "In short, I couldn't push those patents through any quicker if my life depended on it. And she'll make sure they drag on in processing for months. She's good at this game."

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"Because she can. Because…" Draco glanced over to the Weasleys, and then back to Hermione. "...I've upset her."

"So, you're telling me your  _bint_  of a mother took this all out on us because of something  _you_ did?" Ron's face turned a brilliant shade of scarlet.

Draco raised a careful, calculating eyebrow, and if looks could maim, Ron would be without limbs, eyes, and a tongue. "First of all, if you appreciate your testicles intact, Weasley, you'll refrain from  _ever_  calling my mother a  _bint._ Even if she is one. Secondly, it isn't just myself who's managed to - what is it you poor people say? Something about tanning hides? -  _You're_ gallivanting around with Astoria so much the papers are starting to notice."

"So?"

" _So_ ," Draco seethed, "Astoria and I have been trying to keep this breakup under wraps fo _r this specific reason_. Our families don't do well with things they didn't plan out years in advance."

"So she's punishing Ron for-" Hermione scrunched her face in disgust at the thought, "-sleeping with Astoria?"

"Great. So it's your fault, baby brother," said George.

"No." Shaking his head, Draco inhaled deeply and exhaled just as heavily. "She's punishing me."

"No offence, Malfoy, but that's pretty bloody egocentric of you to think my business is about  _you._ "

"Says the man who was ready to blame Draco and burst him into confetti," Hermione pointed out.

"What?" Draco gaped, waving his hand as if to say, 'forget it.' "Look, my mother has said that if I don't reaffirm my marriage to Astoria, then she's going to keep you lot in limbo for as long as she sees fit."

His words hit her like a building crumbling apart on top of her head. It wasn't just a ton of bricks - it felt like every brick in existence. Her senses shut down. Her body grew cold. "Oh." It was all she could manage to say.

"Obviously, that's not what's going to happen," Draco said immediately, taking a step closer.

"Oh?" Another word that nearly wasn't.

"So, you gonna make up for our loss in profits, Malfoy?" George asked, mimicking his brother and crossing his arms across his chest.

"Yeah, about that...I haven't any money."

Silence.

"Pardon?" asked George.

" _The_ disgustingly rich Draco Malfoy is  _broke_?" gasped Ron.

"If I have to say it again, you're both walking away with horns protruding from your nostrils…"

"What happened?" Hermione asked.

"Mother cut me off until I bend to her will. And as I'm an  _imbecile_  and never made my own account, only shared through the joint Malfoy family vaults, well…" he trailed off.

"Your mother has primary access of the vault."

"Precisely."

"And you never set up a single one in your name alone?"

"If I did, do you think I'd be here, flapping my gums to you lot?" he snapped, a bit too aggressively for Hermione's liking. But he immediately recognized his mistake, because he ran his fingers through his slickened tresses and said in a jumbled rush, "I'm-sorry-for-my-outburst… I just...don't know what to do. My mother has backed us all in a corner."

"What about Astoria?" asked Hermione, and the three men turned their eyes on her; Ron held a scathing, embarrassed expression. "Oh, don't give me that look! She's just as involved in this as any of us. Perhaps...perhaps we could ask for her help…"

"For her money, you mean," Ron jeered.

"You were fine with asking for mine a moment ago," Draco reminded him.

"That's because you're a sod, and you owe us all for emotional distress all those years in Hogwarts," the redhead shot back quickly. "We can't ask her to-"

"You most certainly can," came a quiet voice from the doorway - Astoria stood there in a pink summer dress with her hands folded in front of her timidly. "Sorry to intrude. Draco invited me."

"Have you been outside this entire time?" Hermione asked, trying not to let the territorial side of her show. After all, the idea of her...well, what was Draco? - Well, whatever he was, the idea of  _him_  asking his ex to show up to fix a problem...oh, she was being completely illogical. She knew it. Especially since not a moment before she was ready to throw Astoria into the mix herself. Still, she didn't expect it to be Draco to get her involved…

"I wanted to give it a moment. Just to let everyone settle." She stepped inside and closed the door firmly behind her. "I can help, but I'm not sure if what I have saved back on my own is enough to keep the triple W afloat."

"Astoria...you can't do this," Ron said, shaking his head.

"I can, and I will. But I can't do it alone. My father would never agree to investing in such a 'novelty' establishment - no offense." She glanced at Ron and George, and then to Draco. "If we can convince Blaise and Daphne to invest-"

Draco snorted. "Blaise? Do something selfless for someone? You've got to be daft. And besides, they have a baby on the way, Astoria."

"Yes, and they're filthy rich. They can afford to buy the cheap bibs if it means helping out someone else!" Astoria shot back.

"But money isn't where the issue lies," said Hermione firmly. "It's Narcissa as a whole. She doesn't trust Draco to make his own life decisions. Hell, she still thinks of you as a child, and she has to scold you not to touch the stove...trust...yes…" She grew quiet for a full minute before speaking again. "It's her lack of trust in you that's gotten us all to this point." Carefully, she reached over, selected one of her quills, and dipped it in an ink bottle near her hand. But she didn't write on paper - she traced the air, and the ink was brought to life, sketching out in front of them a cylindrical shape with small, half form rectangles stacked uniformly down its side. When she waved her hand, the boxes shifted, creating a staircase.

Immediately, Draco read between the lines. "That's the collum for the trust fall."

"It is."

But he didn't fully understand the message. "You...want my mother to do a trust fall?"

"No.  _We're_  going to do a trust fall," she stated, smiling at the floating ink between them. "Every day, outside of Malfoy Industries."

"A protest?" interjected Ron. "For what? You said it yourself, Hermione. Even if it's wrong, she's got the upper hand, legally speaking."

"That's true, but we're going to make it more personal," she replied. "The protest won't be about the patents. It will be about Draco."

"Come again?" the topic of their discussion blurted out. "You want to do a protest about me?"

"About your mother's refusal to let you take your rightful place at the company. We're going to show her what real trust means." Eagerly, Hermione gathered up a notebook, five blank sets of parchment, two ink bottles, and her half-eaten bagel, which had been tucked inside her desk drawer. With a flick of her wand, she dispelled the floating ink away and scooted her chair back. "Well, don't just stand there gawking. Astoria, do you really think you can get Blaise and Daphne to invest money into the W.W.W.?"

"Of course, I can. After them hiding their pregnancy from me, their guilt will eat at them. I'll work them down in no-time."

"Wonderful. Meanwhile - George. Do you still have those sketches you showed me last month for new material for the shop?"

"Uh, yeah...yeah, it's in my office, still," he replied.

"Great. You and Ron gather up every last sketch and bring them around your mother's house at five o'clock sharp. Can you do that?"

"Er-Hermione-" Ron began, no doubt to try to make some sense of her mind, but she knew he'd never catch up, so she interrupted him.

"Sorry, Ron. Just do what I say. Alright?"

"Right…?"

"Excellent. And you." She pointed directly at Draco. "I need to know - are you in this with us?"

* * *

Every fiber of Draco Malfoy wanted to scoop Hermione Granger up and shove her against a wall only to make out with that beautiful, intelligent face of hers. She looked so calm, so collected in this moment; a woman with a plan. And despite his mother being a harpie of the mythical sort, she still didn't view him as a conspirator in all of this. She trusted him. Believed him.

With a haughty smirk, Draco nodded. "Absolutely."

"Great. Because  _we_  need to see a certain someone."

"Who?"

As Hermione ushered them all out of the office and shut the door behind her, she spelled a paper to the door that read, 'At lunch. Will return promptly.'

"Greg."

"...What?"

* * *

Greg Diggle, for all of his scowling between Hermione and Draco, listened intently to Hermione until she was finished. Draco still couldn't believe what she asked.

"When you talked about trust, I thought it was a metaphor."

"It is."

Draco raised a cool eyebrow at the pedestal in the center of the room. "I think what you plan to do is quite literal."

"It's a metaphor, believe me." Hermione straightened her shoulders and looked to Greg. "Do we have your permission?"

Greg tapped his foot, thinking it over. "My father would never agree to it."

"But-"

"-Which is why I say yes." His face broke out into a charismatic grin. "I mean, after all, he wants you two to practice, right? Well, he never said it had to be  _here._ "

"So, you'll help us?"

"I've poked my head in a time or two to that joke shop. I got my first pygmy puff from there. Hazel. Cheeky little thing. Bites the fingers something awful, but she's as cute as a button. It's like she knows if she gives me a sad, strange little face, I'll cave to every demand." He laughed, adding, "A bit like you, really."

Draco narrowed his eyes, the possessive snake inside of him curling tightly around his heart. Hermione, as if sensing it, took a step back and stomped firmly on his toes, making him wince. She turned her head to the side, giving him a 'be nice' glance.

"Thank you, Greg. We're very grateful. Aren't we, Draco?"

Muttering out something like an agreeance but with more agitation, Draco gave a firm nod of the head.

"Great," said Greg. "When do you need me?"

"I should be able to scrounge up a decent crowd in three days time," Hermione replied.

"Three days...that's a bit quick, isn't it?"

"Believe me," said Draco, "if you knew anything about this one, you'd know three days is all she needs. Hell, she could probably do it in two."

"Indeed, I could. But best not to rush things, yes?" She reached out and - bloody HELL. Was she  _hugging_ Diggle? Oh, Draco really wanted to say something now, but he feared the wrath of Hermione far more than he had a desire to establish his dominance. When they left Studio Uno, however, and headed down the hall toward the floo, he reached down and curled his fingers around her wrist, stopping her.

"Hugging Diggle? Really? All he did was lend us a prop."

"Don't tell me you're jealous," Hermione replied, an amused smile quickly spreading like wildfire across her face.

"Jealous? Of that twat? Don't be absurd."

"Is it absurd if it's true?"

"I haven't the faintest clue what you mean."

To his delight, she pushed herself up on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the cheek, dragging her lips slowly to the corner of his mouth to whisper, "Good. Because jealousy is unattractive."

Draco rolled his eyes but otherwise remained still. "One: if I was jealous, which I'm not, it's not as if losing a few unattractive points would hurt me in the long run. Have you seen me? I'm oozing sexual prowess."

"And two?"

"If jealousy gets you in my personal bubble, I'll be the most jealous person on the whole damned planet." He curled an arm around her waist and pulled her forward, until they were chest to chest, noses touching. "You know, you're sexy when you're commanding authority."

"Am I?" she breathed out, a twinkle in her eyes.

"Quite. In fact, I think I  _like_ being bossed around by you." He dipped his head forward and planted a slow, sensual kiss to her lips. Moments passed before the kissing stopped again.

"I'm glad you like it," she said, catching her breath, "because the next few weeks, you're under my thumb."

"And in your bed, I hope?"

Laughing, Hermione pulled away entirely, blowing a stray curl from her face. "We'll see, Draco. First, you need to work for it. - And I mean literal work."

"Oh joy…"


	29. Falling For You

**Thank you, everyone, for your patience with the long gap between chapters this time around. If you haven't heard through Facebook or Tumblr, my husband and I suffered a miscarriage recently. It's been an uphill battle toward recovery (physical and emotional), so thank you for all of the support and kind words. They did not go unnoticed.**

**Beta love to LondonsLegend, as per the usual. One bad ass lady right there. :)**  
**~A.**

* * *

**"You can't blame gravity**  
**for falling in love."**  
**Albert Einstein.**

* * *

**Stage Right: Astoria, Daphne, Blaise**  
**Setting: Ehh, does anyone read these anyway?**

* * *

"You want us to what?"

"Blaise, don't act like a dolt. You heard me perfectly well." Astoria Greengrass crossed her arms, perfectly groomed eyebrows crinkled in an exasperated way. She shot a glance over to her sister, who stared, bewildered, much like a pixie caught in the light of a spell.

"What you're asking us to do...funding the Weasleys? It goes against everything I stand for as a businessman."

"Meaning?" snapped Astoria.

Blaise was reproachful as he stole a quick look at his wife. "Meaning...going against Malfoy Industries puts me in some deep shite. They hold patents for my company as well. - And what does any of this have to do with us, anyway? This sounds like  _your_  mess."

"Blaise!" Daphne gasped, smacking him on the arm.

"What? You know it's true."

"She's my sister.  _Our_  sister. I can't believe you won't consider helping."

"No, love. I've considered it. The answer is just plain no." He folded his arms dutifully across his chest and leaned back in his seat, determined and steadfast in his ways.

But Astoria was cunning. She wasn't sorted in Slytherin for nothing.

"Let me put it to you this way," she said, leaning forward to reach for her cup of tea. "If you don't fund the Weasleys and their endeavors, I  _will_ tell Father about your little early canoodling and the overjoyous news of your bun in the oven." Her eyes narrowed as she sipped from her cup idly. "And I'll be sure to tell him just when my sweet niece or nephew was conceived. But not before placing up a thick Apparation ward to prevent you from escaping as he strikes you down with every hex imaginable." She placed her cup back on the table and smiled. "Or, you can show your softer side, comply with my demands, and I'll go along with every single lie you and my sister say in way of this pregnancy. We both know how traditional my father is. I'm sure there's enough room on his shelf above the mantle for a set of testicles displayed in a colorful jar."

Daphne grinned ear to ear, turning her head toward her husband. "I do believe she has you pinned,  _love_."

Blaise uncrossed his arms, scratched the tip of his nose, and looked firmly down at his feet. "I s'pose if it's helping out my mate, Draco…"

"Thank you ever so much for your help!"

* * *

**Stage Left: Draco and Narcissa**  
**Setting: Narcissa's office (or, what would have been Draco's)**

* * *

It was obvious from the way Narcissa Malfoy's eyes slanted as her son paced the floor that she was not in the mood for drawn out moments today. She sat neatly at her desk, fingers rapping along the stack of paperwork she had yet to sign, head tilted much the way a cat stared in inquiry of its prey. But Draco knew he was no mere morsel - he was the canary, dangling in front of her face just out of reach.

Still, he would not bow to her will.

"Do you have something to say, sweetheart, or do you plan to pace until you've run a rut in my carpet?"

Draco snapped his head up, eyes trailing over to the current bane of his existence. "They're setting up the protest platform as we speak." His words were slow, like droplets of water beading down his psyche to form a coherent thought.

"Then have you come here to flaunt your shoddy undertaking in my face?" Narcissa asked politely.

"I came…"  _Breathe_ , he thought to himself, willing his hands to harden into fists to keep from shaking. He cleared his throat and continued. "I came to make you a promise."

Narcissa quirked one polished eyebrow. "Oh?" She nearly looked pleased.

Draco wanted to swipe that pleasure away. Was this what it was like when he'd annoyed his classmates in school to the point of duels? A lesson to be learned was somewhere in there, but he hadn't any time for it.

 _Breathe,_ he told himself again, and he did. It helped, but not much. "Yes. I promise you, when Hermione Granger puts her mind to something, she will never relent until her goals are accomplished."

"Bit of a pot and kettle situation, don't you think?" Narcissa smirked. "Have you ever known your darling mother to be any different?"

"I wasn't finished." Draco stopped his pacing, just the once, to glare at her dead on. "I promise I will stand by her side until you either release the Weasleys' patents back to them or give me my status at the company to do so myself."

With a brazen smile, his mother quietly laughed into her shoulder. "Such passion. I wonder where it came from. After all, I've been searching for this side of you ever since your father's death." She held his stare with a battle-ready tension in her face.

Draco knew just how to retaliate. "Perhaps by osmosis. Hermione Granger is a very passionate creature - in many ways."

A fire flickered behind Narcissa's eyes. "I'm sure sewing your wild oats has been fun, but it's time to grow up, darling, and learn where your loyalties lie."

"My  _loyalties_?" Draco barked. "What good are loyalties to empty promises? To miserable relationships that only ever made  _you_ happy?"

"Come now, Draco. We both know you and Astoria were a good match. Better. You complimented each other."

"We were boring."

"You were sensible." Narcissa made a point to fold her hands together on the table, much the way a business tycoon would when prepared to lay off an entire department. "Marriage is so much more than chasing pretty skirts. It's about dedication to the flower you've watered."

"I'm not a  _child_."

"Then stop acting like one. Protests? Really, Draco? Don't you think that's a bit beneath you?"

"You mean don't I think Hermione's beneath me. - That's it, isn't it? The understated issue here? It isn't that I don't want to marry Astoria. It's because I've chosen a witch with 'lesser status' to replace her."

"Do you honestly find me that shallow?"

"Yes."

"I'm hurt." However, his mother looked anything but. "But if we're on the subject, I think you could do better, yes."

"Better?" Draco laughed dryly. "Better than Hermione Granger? This is the same woman that passed me time and time again academically. This is the  _same woman_ who helped save the wizarding world as we know it. The same woman who carved her own path inside the Ministry of Magic to elicit house-elf liberation-"

"You don't give two figs about house-elf liberation."

"You're missing the point." Draco began to pace again. "She breathes life into me. Every time I feel defeated, she pulls me back up by my bootstraps and slaps me in the face with reality. How could I do better than someone like that?"

Narcissa folded her arms over her chest. "Interesting."

Hope sparked inside Draco's chest, faint but earnest. "What's interesting?"

"I guess we'll have to wait and see."

It wasn't the answer he was going for, but he felt pleased with it all the same. "So, will you consider giving the Weasleys back their patents?"

"That's a keen sense of humor you have, Draco."

Draco smirked. "Oh, Mother. Just wait and see. I promise to put on a good show for you."

* * *

**Center Stage: Hermione and Draco  
Setting: Outside Malfoy Industries**

* * *

Standing in front of Malfoy Industries, dressed in casual slacks and a white button down, Draco had never felt more vulnerable. He might as well have been naked, for all the good it did him to stand in front of the expectant crowd Hermione had managed to scrounge up with simply a name drop.

"Remind me why  _you_  have to be here again," he drawled, glancing sideways at Harry Potter, who stood fiddling with his tie.

"Believe me, Malfoy, I'm not keen on it, either," Potter muttered under his breath as Hermione stood at the podium, shuffling papers. "But Hermione thinks it will bring in a larger crowd, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get the Weasleys their business back - even if it means backing  _you_."

"I'm touched. Really, Potter. Could you also prance around and show us your galloping gate while you're here entertaining the masses like some show pony?" Draco smirked.

"If you two are quite done bickering," said Hermione, turning around and flashing them both an expectant smile. "And Draco - show pony analogies?"

"You have to admit. He has a rather long face."

"Hey!" Potter sneered under his breath.

"Show's on, boys. Come on. Pip, pip!" Hermione grabbed at both of their arms and yanked them forward, one on each side of her as they approached the podium together. Down below, expectant faces looked upwards; Draco recognized several as reporters from the  _Daily_  and other affiliated magazines such as  _Which Witch_ , the gossip rag, and  _Potions Daily._  As if reading his mind, Hermione leaned over and whispered, "Potions are affected by patenting corporations, too. Besides, the triple W has many-a-potion that have been taken off the market due to your mother's actions. They're all here for support. Wipe the sneer off of your face, would you?"

"It's a permanent feature of his, Hermione. No good in telling him to remove it," Potter chided quietly, smirking at Draco when he shot a glare in his direction.

Hermione ignored the two of them, giving Draco a pat on the back (nothing too friendly, as the presses were watching, and they didn't need to make it about their relationship) before personifying her voice with her wand and greeting the crowd.

"Ahem...hello and welcome, everyone. Thank you for coming today…"

Her words bled together as Draco searched the crowd for familiar faces. He found several, as a matter of fact. He recognized Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan right off the bat - though, it was hard to miss the way Thomas had his arms draped over Finnigan's shoulders like a blanket or the way he kissed along the other man's ear while listening to Hermione. Onward Draco's eyes scanned, spotting - to his surprise - Pansy Parkinson and her fiance, Cormac McLaggen. Of course, it  _shouldn't_ have come as such a shock, considering Pansy's immense crush on the four-eyed nitwit on the other side of Hermione. Maybe having Potter here wasn't so bad...it did gather a large crowd. There were a few Aurors Draco recognized standing amongst the spectators, perhaps waiting to see if a riot would break out. But they should have known better. Hermione Granger's protests were anything but riotous.

"-highly responsible course of actions have led me to believe he is more than capable of ascending to his rightful position as head of Malfoy Industries," Hermione was saying, bringing Draco's thoughts back around. "And while the board's actions are not  _lawfully_ corrupted, the corruption lies in the morality for the future of Malfoy Industries. But we can stand up! We can say 'no' to this dictatorship of injustice. I fully believe in Draco Malfoy, and I would gladly put my trust in him." She glanced over to Potter at the same time that she snuffed out the spell on her voice. "Harry."

Potter looked around for a moment, as if there might magically be some other Harry standing right next to him, realized he was wrong, and pushed his glasses up his nose before switching spots with Hermione on the podium. He pointed his wand to his throat, amplified his voice, and said, "Hello."

The crowd muttered quietly in response.

"Er…" Potter glanced back at Hermione, who gave him an encouraging look and pointed to the paper on top of the podium. He spun back around, shuffled the papers, and found one marked HARRY in bold lettering at the top. With a nervous, partially relieved sigh, he lifted his head again. "Thanks, everyone, for coming out. I might not have a hand in business myself, but I do know injustice when I see it. Some of you might know Mal- _Draco_ ," he corrected quickly, "from our school days. We didn't get on then," looking away from his papers, he added, "and I guess I can't say that we get on well now." Hermione looked like she was about to hex him before he hastily continued, "But I do know that Draco is more than capable of running Malfoy Industries. We're asking…" He paused, glancing back at Draco, who had no idea why until Potter said hurriedly, "-for an immediate boycott of all future patenting with M.I. until such a time as Draco is appointed as Head of the company, honoring his father's last will and testament. -Er…" He glanced back over his notes quickly, but the media was quicker, flashing photos and leaping at a chance to interrogate.

"Mister Potter! Mister Potter!"  
"Potter, a moment of your time!"  
"Harry, dear!"

The last one cooed gingerly from her spot in the front, golden curls glistening under the sunny weather. She wore a bright green ensemble, the highest and most uncomfortable heels Draco had seen to date, and her nails were painted a pukish gold. But what else could one expect from the infamous Rita Skeeter?

"Harry, a moment, please!" she chirped, elbowing two other reporters behind her covertly.

"Er...sure, why not." Potter nodded. "Go ahead, Missus Skeeter."

Draco glanced sideways at Hermione, who looked as if she might puke on the spot. Either that, or hex Potter's bits off. He hoped for the latter; it would be much more entertaining to see.

"Thoughts on supporting an ex-supporter of You-Know-Who?" she singsonged.

Draco's veins ran cold, and all of the blood drained from his face. The crowd broke out into hushed whispers like wildfire, consuming all thoughts. Everyone hung on bated breath for Potter's answer, be it reasonable or not; for a loaded question like that, any outcome was sure to be something grandly exploitable, and Rita knew it.

"Um…" Potter started, and Draco had the gut instinct to whip him over the head with his fist for starting out his tactical answer with 'UM'. "Well, I...I mean - for starters, his name was Voldemort." Potter straightened his shoulders, feigning confidence. "And secondly, if you'll recall, I testified on the Malfoys' behalf at their hearings pending the ending of the Second War, where I distinctly recall putting my faith in them then, as I do Draco now." Narrowing his eyes, he zoomed in on Rita and added, "Besides, a person's past doesn't always have to dictate their future. At least, that's what Headmaster Dumbledore taught me all those years ago."

Rita Skeeter looked as if she had been greeted by a fly buzzing around her head - annoyed, but not entirely put-off. Her quick-quotes-quill hurriedly scratched at the parchment hovering just to the side of her, surely misquoting, but it wouldn't be enough to discredit his statements, considering there were plenty of witnesses.

It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Draco felt overjoyed and relieved as Potter took his leave from the podium, extending an arm out to showcase Draco taking his spot. With a heavy gulp, Draco did just that, stepping up into the limelight and shuffling the papers around until he found one marked DRACO in the boldest writing of them all. Thank Merlin for Hermione and her planning.

"Hello," he began after spelling his voice, puffing his chest out, tilting his chin up, and giving off his most dutiful Malfoy persona - the one his father taught him long ago. "I'm Draco Malfoy, for those of you who don't know, and I stand here today in protest to the decision to remove me from the Board of Directors at Malfoy Industries. My mother would have you believe that I am some…" He glanced back at Hermione as if saying 'I refuse to say the word 'manchild' in public' before turning back around and saying, "...one incapable of performing my duties to the company. And to a point...she's right." He lifted his head up, watching the crowd while momentarily putting the notes on pause. "For the longest time, I didn't know what I wanted to do with my adulthood. I wasn't nearly responsible like I should have been. This, however, does not reflect on the Draco that stands before you now." His eyes scanned the spectators before turning back to his notes. "My mother does not make her decisions out of duty to the company, instead foregoing my ascension to 'teach me a lesson' in terms of growing up."

"You're doing great," Hermione whispered from behind. "Keep going."

Draco took a breath and did. "I believe that family squabbles should stay out of business. It is highly immature, evasive, and above all, immoral to the integrity of the company." Alright, Hermione could have chosen softer words, but they certainly seemed to pack a punch. The reporters below him were eating it up. "Once I'm returned to my rightful seat in the company, I plan to reform patent laws, making them fair and for the people. The systems we have now are troubling and do not work. An example of this can be made in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, which, a week ago today, was affected by Malfoy Industries' outdated bylaws. I'm sure they're not the only ones to find themselves under unjustified scrutiny at the expense of their business. I vow to put an end to these oversights and push forward into a new era of patents, where businesses and patent companies symbiotically coexist."

Quickly, before another spectacle could be made concerning interview questions, Hermione jumped in and added, "Which is why we will peacefully protest until justice has been served! Our protest performance signifies my trust in Draco Malfoy and his capability to shoulder this company into its bright future."

Beside them was the trust-fall pillar, set up and ready to go. Potter helped shrink the podium stand and clear the area while Hermione and Draco prepared off to the side.

"Are you ready?" Hermione asked.

"To catch you? Are you kidding? That's the easiest thing I'll do all day." He smirked.

She swatted him on the arm, grinning. "I figure we'll start out from the highest section we've done so far and work our way up from there."

"Are you sure you're ready for that?" he asked. "That's intensely high."

Hermione gave a gentle smile. "Doubting yourself?"

"Not on your life."

"My life - you hear that, Draco Malfoy?" she teased, backing away toward the pillar. "My life is literally in your hands, now."

With a grin, she took her first step up the magical staircase, and then another, until she reached the top of the twenty stairs. Diggle assured them it would extend as high as they wished, but Draco didn't even want to think about that at the moment. He needed to concentrate - it wouldn't do well to have his (well, what were they?) splat to the sidewalk. Not good for her, for their relationship, or for the company.

Plus, who else was willing to give him tawdry, awkward, intensely intimate sex?

The crowd watched on as Hermione turned her back to them and folded her arms over her chest. Her curls blew in the breezy wind, swaying every which way and framing her colorful cheeks, which were rosy and beautiful. From here, she looked like that angel he saw their first trust fall, glowing and so full of life.

When she let herself fall, it was like she was being cast out of heaven. Down, down, down she fell, brunette ringlets whipping - an angel clipped of her wings and forced into the chaos of humanity.

Draco flicked his wand wrist, slowing her down when she was but twenty feet away from the ground's surface. She landed gracefully in his arms, a euphoric smile spread across her face, eyes dancing in exhilaration.

She was the one that fell, but Draco felt himself falling in that moment. She was more than a pretty face and beautiful mind. She was a soul that connected with his, and he knew, right then and there, that there was no coming back from a spell like Hermione Granger.

* * *

**I hope ya'll liked! Please leave a review if you have the chance.**  
**~A.**


	30. Broken Wing

**I can't even begin to thank everyone for their love and support through our difficult time with the miscarriage and me finding my way back to writing. If you follow me on facebook, you'll notice I've gone through an art phase. It's helped me tremendously through everything. You might have also noticed my announcement for taking a break to work on my original works through the anime convention, which I was a guest at for my writing. I'm pleased to say the panels I hosted were a huge success (standing room only), and I made some terrific new friends. Hopefully, I've inspired a few new writers to keep pushing through their muse and find their voice. You can check out all of the advice on my website.**

**Aside from that, I'm back in the writing game now, and I'm going to be swinging hard. You hear that crack of a bat hitting the ball out of the park? That's my drive to continue to give you the Dramione you (hopefully) want. I know you all deserve it. Thank you for being there for me, even when I couldn't be there for myself.**

**So, without further stalling, here's the next chapter of Tango!**

**~A.**

**PS: To the person who pointed out I used Theo the last chapter randomly with Pansy - you're right, and that was an oversight on my part. My brain wasn't fully computing. I'll be fixing that soon. Thank you.**

**PPS: I named this chapter "Broken Wing" because of Draco's bleak mood. You'll see what I mean.**

* * *

**I can't tell if it's killing me or making me stronger.**   
**~Anon.**

* * *

**Center Stage: The Whole Crew**   
**Setting: Hermione's VERY CRAMPED apartment**

* * *

"Have you seen the headline for today's Quibbler?" asked Ron, glancing around at his partners in crime (Hermione, Draco, Astoria, Blaise, Daphne, Harry, and Ginny) as they all sat at Hermione's table, gathered for breakfast the next morning. The table had been spelled to seat all of them, which made the tiny apartment cramped. Hermione's chair was brushed up against the sofa, which didn't bother her, but she did notice Draco's discomfort at being wedged in between Harry and Daphne with little room to maneuver. Still, no one complained as Ron passed down his newspaper to Hermione, who beamed as she read the words:

 _Malfoy Family Scandal: War Heroine and Hero Take Up Arms For Small Businesses_  
  
"Well, now," she said, grinning ear to ear, "That's something, isn't it?"

Blaise gave a shrug, digging into his sausage links with a fork, cutting them up into small pieces like an aristocratic heir he was. "I wouldn't get too excited until we read what's in the Daily."

"Which should be arriving any minute," said Astoria, a hopeful gleam in her eye.

"Still, it's nice to know Luna's got our back," Ron chimed in, waving around his glass of orange juice in enthusiasm.

"Of course Lovegood has your back," snapped Daphne curtly. "She's your friend. Blaise is right. Let's see how the wolves descend."

"That's not putting much faith in our Hermione," said Ginny with reproach.

"They aren't worried about Hermione's image," said Draco quietly, having not touched a bit of food on his plate. "It's mine they're concerned with."

"That Skeeter," Harry muttered under his breath, and Draco nodded in agreement.

"Precisely. You might have been able to put her in her place, Potter, but that doesn't mean she won't retaliate with a fierce storm of words which could make or break this protest."

"Well, I still have faith," Ron grumbled, stuffing an entire slice of toast in his mouth.

Hermione wanted to reach over the table and squeeze Draco's hand, but she knew better than to do so. With this many people around, he was about as vulnerable as a Mandrake in Winter. Any little thing could set him off, and so she sat quietly, trying her best to shovel some eggs into her mouth, even though she felt like vomiting.

The minutes dragged on as everyone exchanged the latest gossips. George wasn't here on account of being busy securing a new business idea to partner with the broom store across the street. It was a silly proposal, but one that might benefit both stores. Though, Hermione still thought the idea of broomsticks that wrote out people's insecurities in colorful smoke was a bit rude.

_Tap, tap, tap!_

All eyes darted to the kitchen window where a large owl pecked on the glass as it balanced on the ledge. Ron, who was closest, stood, wiped his chin with the back of his hand, and scuttled his way through the cramped kitchen to the window. As he opened it, the owl flew in without hesitation, dropping a large, rolled edition of the Daily on the counter. Ron moved to reach for his pockets and pay the bird, but it had already made its way back out the window.

"I pre-pay for a month at a time," Hermione explained, eyes drifting to the paper. "Well…?"

"Give it to me," Draco immediately snapped, drawing everyone's attention. When he realized all eyes were on him, he added dryly, "Please…"

"You know the P word?" smirked Ron, obviously trying to lighten the mood as his fingers wrapped around the paper.

"Weasley, you  _are_ a P word, but it isn't polite to use it around mixed company," Draco smirked back, extending his hand out. "Paper. Now."

"Whatever." Ron tossed it to him in such a way that the paper smacked Draco in the face before falling onto his plate. Satisfied, the redhead took his seat again, sipping idly from his cup of O.J.

After gathering up what little dignity he had left, Draco unrolled the paper and set to work reading the front page. He made sure no one else could do so. His eyes scanned across the words; everyone held their breath.

"So?" Astoria asked finally.

"I'm still reading," Draco draweled.

"Come on," Harry growled, irritated. "Give us the gist of it, at least."

"The gist?" The blond tilted his head up and met Hermione's gaze. His ears were a pretty pink, but his expression was bleak. "Skeeter is a moronic megalomaniac." He handed the paper over to Harry without a fight.

Harry read aloud, " _A Tale as Old as Time: Malfoy Family Squabble Over Power_. - Wow, hit the nail on the head with that one, didn't she?" When no one laughed at Harry's poorly timed joke, he continued, "This reporter finds it prudent to begin with mentioning that I have always tried to remain objective at all times. That being said, it is hard not to let my good judgement go to waste when dealing with a power trip like the Malfoy family and their business. I won't bore you with all of the jargon, so here's the scoop: Draco Malfoy, heir to Malfoy Industries, displayed a lack of tact yesterday while using the publicity of two war heroes to enact his revenge on his mother, who removed him from the board of directors after the young heir refused to show any interest in the company.

Draco Malfoy could not be reached for question-"  
"Hogwash!" growled Ron.

"-but Narcissa Malfoy had this to say on the protest outside of Malfoy Industries yesterday morning: 'My son is a strong-willed character. While his actions are brash and, frankly, questionable, I believe he does them out of a good place in his heart. Whether or not he will grow up and take the proper channels in order to gain his status with the company is yet to be determined, but I enjoy the spectacle nonetheless.' -Er, there's more, but…"

"We get it," Hermione sighed, her cheeks as red as tomatoes. Everyone at the table looked crestfallen, but none more than Draco, who politely pushed himself up to stand and whispered, "Excuse me," before awkwardly maneuvering behind everyone and retreating to the bathroom.

It certainly wasn't a win. Not by any means, and Hermione realized they had more of an uphill battle than she ever believed possible.

* * *

**Stage Right: Draco, Hermione, The Diggle family**   
**Setting: The Studio, of course**

* * *

"No, no, no." Señor Diggle shook his head and grumbled beneath his mustache, eyeing Draco as he stumbled over the steps -  _again_. "¡ _Dios mío_!  _Dónde is tu_   _cabeza_ today?"

Hermione flinched as Draco stepped across her toes - thankfully, they were both barefoot, so there wasn't a heeled shoe jabbing its way against her joints. Watching as her partner took a heavy sigh, she released him and took two steps back, determination set in her brow.

"Again," she said.

Draco quirked an unamused eyebrow at her. "I think not."

"Why?"

"Because it's bloody obvious, isn't it? I haven't the mindset for any of this." He shooed away the idea like an aggressive mosquito and jogged past her to a small bag he carried with him during practices. From inside, he withdrew a small goblet, used an  _aguamente_  spell, and sipped down the water with exaggerated gulps. Hermione, bless her soul, was ready to charge right in again and insist they reset and continue, but Greg came up behind her from his cozy spot in the corner and whispered into her ear, "Give him some time."

"I understand that he's under a fair amount of stress, but-"

"A 'fair amount'?" Greg smirked, sidestepping into her line of vision. "Believe me, Hermione," he ducked his voice, "It's no picnic living in the shadows of someone else." His eyes drifted over to Señor Diggle, who was fixing the tip of his mustache in the dance mirrors. "And to stand up to them is even more difficult."

"Pot." Hermione gestured to Greg. "Meet kettle." And then to Draco.

Greg didn't appear putoff, merely opting for a light shrug of his shoulders instead. "My issues are my own. But believe me when I say - pushing someone like Malfoy to do anything he doesn't want to will only end in tears - on your part, of course."

Didn't she know it...even still… "I can't just stand here and watch him mope."

"So don't."

"Pardon?"

"You two have been rallying for a week and a half now. In all that time, have either one of you gotten to take some time off aside from the protest, the Weasleys, and your jobs?"

"Well, um, Draco doesn't have a career at the moment…"

"Wrong." Greg held up one finger in protest. "His highest priority is trying to meet all of your great expectations."

" _My_ great expectations?" Hermione gasped. Certainly not! She didn't hold Draco to a high set of standards! She would have liked to think of herself as an encourager of seeing him blossom, yes...but…

"Are we ready to begin again?" asked Señor Diggle over his shoulder, still eyeing himself in the mirror.

Greg sent Hermione a look - one that said to heed his words. The Gryffindor in her felt prideful enough to tell him off. The rest of her...the small traces of Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff, knew she might need to listen if she had any hopes of reaching Draco at this point.

When Draco approached her again, wrapping his hands delicately around her waist, she whispered, "Feeling any better?"

"Peachy," he sneered dully. "Shall we?"

They took off with the first steps, gliding aggressively across the dance floor thanks to Draco's lead. Hermione stumbled over her own two feet, trying to keep up, realizing Greg was, indeed, right in his assumption. "You've been working so much lately on the protest…"

"Mmh," Draco grumbled in response.

"Perhaps we should take a night off?"

This caused him to quirk an eyebrow. "To do what?"

"Go on a date. Relax."

His lead became less forceful and more along with the cadence of the music in the background. Draco's face relaxed slightly. "You mean it? No Weasleys? No Potter?"

"I mean it," she nodded. "I'm sorry...I didn't realize I'd been running us ragged."

"Hmph. A Malfoy is never ragged."

"Stretching us thin, then. You  _are_ thin."

A smirk breached the corners of his lips, and Draco spun her around. "Alright, but I pick the venue this time. Every time we go out on your terms, we end up running into someone we know. -And I want you all to myself."

"We can hear you, you know," Greg called some ways away. "I think I want to vomit."

"You know where the loo is," said Greg's father without missing a beat, clapping his hands wildly as Draco and Hermione came to a stop, having performed all of the steps without injury. "¡ _Maravilloso_! See what happens when you work together instead of apart? It almost makes up for the fact that you three stole my Trust Fall platform."

" _Borrowed_ ," Greg corrected. "And this protest has been good for business. Everyone and their mum wants to know where they can take a try on the platform. Beginners' classes have tripled since the start of all this."

" _That_ is the only reason I haven't thrown all of you out on your  _culos."_

"Believe me, we'd all be out on our  _culos_ if these two hadn't brought business in. Don't act like you're ungrateful."

Hermione and Draco exchanged small glances at one another; it was obvious they felt out of place, like there was some secret conversation they were eavesdropping on. Hermione had no idea why the wizarding world's lead dance instructor would be hurting for business - but one thing was for certain: Señor Diggle didn't argue the subject further, which meant Greg must have been right.

"So, about that date," Draco asked, thankfully changing the subject, "tonight?"

"I can't tonight." She hated seeing the way his eyes dimmed at her response. "I'm sorry. I promised Ginny I would look at wedding color samples with her."

Draco's face scrunched as if remembering a distant, uncomfortable memory. "Tell her there's no difference between porcelain and eggshell, and if she knows what's good for her, she won't force Potter into trying to figure out the two."

Hermione laughed into her shoulder for a split moment, but then came down from the high of his humorous anecdote when she realized where his expertise on the matter came from. A small curl of jealousy twisted inside her gut, tighter and tighter until she had to shake herself free of it. She released Draco and cleared her throat. "Tomorrow? We can meet at my place at six?"

"Let's make it five," he answered, clearly unaware he had said anything wrong. Hermione leaned up, kissed him on the cheek, and strolled over to retrieve her bag.

"Thank you," she muttered under her breath to Greg. "For the advice."

"Not a problem."

She paused. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

"Ohhh, stop it. You know what I mean." Hermione glanced over in Draco's direction; he seemed to be busy showing off his new dragon-hide shoes to Señor Diggle. "We both know you don't care for Draco. So why did you give me any advice at all? Wouldn't you rather see him suffer?"

Greg smiled thoughtfully at her, tapping his index finger to his chin so whimsically, he nearly resembled his father in the moment. "It would be tempting...while I enjoy seeing a spoiled twat like Malfoy be miserable, I don't feel the same about his counterpart. Believe it or not, I still haven't given up the notion that you'll eventually find his posh attitude excruciating and settle for someone a bit more down to earth."

"Like you?"

"Pigs can fly these days, Hermione. We have magic."

Hermione smiled. "Well...thank you for looking out for us. Who would have thought you could actually turn out to be a friend?"

"Um, thanks? I suppose?"

Pulling the strap of her bag over her shoulder, Hermione turned and added, "Oh, and Greg? I never settle." With a wink, she skipped off to Draco's side, hugging him. She didn't even fight the blush that flooded over her face when he kissed her on the forehead, but she did slug him in the side when he tried to touch her bum. Leaving Draco wheezing, Greg laughing, and Señor Diggle metaphorically stupefied, she took her leave.

She couldn't wait until tomorrow night.

* * *

**Center Stage: Hermione**   
**Setting: Her apartment. Again.**

* * *

Hermione had just settled down on the sofa and picked up a book when there was a knock at her front door. She hadn't planned for any visitors for another hour (Draco and their date night), so she was very confused as she sighed, rose to stand, and made her way to the door. With a flick of her wrist, she unlocked the deadbolt and pried the door open, only to be met by a devilishly handsome smirk.

"Draco?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. "What are you...didn't we say five? And why are you dressed so proper?"

Draco Malfoy looked like a dapper gentleman, his hair slicked back like the days of his Hogwarts years and dressed in tailored dress robes that accented his long frame. In his hand he held a hanger and, what appeared to be, a set of dress robes tailored to resemble a dress. Long, black, and entirely revealing, it looked three sizes too small for her.

"What in Godric's name do you think you're doing?" she added to her list of questions.

"Change of plans...sort of," Draco said with a shrug. "But you'll need to change into these." He held the hanger out to her.

"Um…" Hermione gaped at the seductive garment. "I...n-no?"

"Excuse me?"

"No...thank you?" Her cheeks were warm, and her body radiated with heat all over. "That would never fit me."

"Of course, it will," Draco encouraged. "It's spelled to hug a witch's curves in all the right ways."

Oh. That  _did_ explain a lot. However - "And where, pray tell, will we be going in such lavish evening clothes?"

"That is for me to know and you to put on this dress and find out." Draco's eyes twinkled with excitement - more than he'd shown since they'd begun the protests. Hermione couldn't find it in her heart to snuff that out, so she begrudgingly yanked him inside her apartment, took the dress robes from him, and meekly excused herself to her bedroom to change.

It took her three tries to get the robes to fit her just right, and with a little alteration, she managed to loosen them around her hips so that she was able to walk without stumbling. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, her mouth gaped.

Draco had been right - these robes did fit in all the right ways. Her bosom had never looked so full, and her hips looked like they could carve out a man's heart with just a sway. And, because the robes were a deep black, she could see the slimming effect working its own set of magic. There was also a scandalous slit up the left side of the dress that revealed the side of her hip every time she took a step.

Did she even own shoes that would go along with this sort of eveningwear?

Hermione shuffled her way to the closet, transfigured a pair of her most comfortable flats into heels, and refused to even  _try_ to do anything with her hair -what was the point? It would fall out within an hour anyway.

Bashful, she pried open the door and revealed herself, taking in the sight of Draco leaned back on her sofa, legs spread in that manly display that so many men did when comfortable. When he took in the sight of her, he immediately sat up, mouth slightly parted and expression bewondered.

"You look…" He cleared his throat. "I knew that dress would fit."

"If that's your way of a compliment-"

"You look beautiful. Really." He nodded slowly. "You do."

Hermione was, for once, thankful for her curly hair, as it hid the reddening of her ears. "Thank you...now, do you mind telling me what this is all about?"

A wide grin spread across Draco's face. "Hermione Granger, how do you feel about crashing a party?"

* * *

**Please leave a review with your thoughts! They mean so much to me.**   
**~A.**


	31. The Lackin' Laggens

**So, I fixed that Theo issue three chapters back! Also, I forgot to give beta love to LondonsLegend and SamWallflower for their hard work last chapter. My brain wasn't quite back in posting mode, but now it is!**

**I really hope ya'll enjoy this chapter. I know I did. Beta/Alpha love to LondonsLegend and LightofEvolution, who gave me some wickedly funny ideas for the following. ^_^ Love you, ladies!**

**Thanks everyone for all of the supportive reviews surrounding my issues. I'm better, I promise. Love you all lots.**   
**~A.**

* * *

**Oh don't you dare look back**   
**Just keep your eyes on me**   
**I said you're holding back**   
**She said shut up and dance with me**   
**This woman is my destiny**   
**She said oh oh oh**   
**Shut up and dance with me**

**~Walk The Moon, "Shut Up and Dance With Me"**

* * *

**Center Stage: Draco and Hermione**   
**Setting: ?**   
**(Save progress? Y/N)**

* * *

It didn't matter how soft or forceful her approach - Draco refused to tell Hermione where they were headed as he took her hand and Disapparated them from her flat with a loud  _pop._ The push and pull of the magic that spun around them in a cosmetic pinch irritated Hermione to no end, and she gasped for air as they landed expertly in an upscale drawing room, decorated not in the usual Slytherin colors she associated Draco with, but reds and golds instead. They were subtle yet hard to miss; from the trimming around the doorframe to the accented pillows, everything screamed  _Gryffindor!_

As her eyebrows knit together, she watched Draco perform a satisfied chuckle, followed by a small sweep of the coffee table beside them with his index finger.

"Draco...where are we?" she asked.

Draco simply blew a bit of dust from the tip of his finger and replied, "For all that bragging, you'd think their home would be spotless."

"Bragging?"

"Arrogant sods…"

"Sods?"

"I wasn't aware you were one of those repeating stuffed birds from the Weasleys' joke shop. Should I return you to the store instead of keeping you on my arm this evening?"

It was just enough goading to force her to gather her senses, straighten her shoulders, and shake a finger in his face. "Now you listen here. I'm dressed in a ridiculous...ly beautiful gown for  _you_. The least you can do in return is tell me what the Hell is going-"

But before she could finish her sentence, there was a rattle at the door, and she felt herself being scooped up into Draco's arms in a blur. The next thing she knew, her leg - the one exposed by the seductive slit in her dress - was hiked up around Draco's waist by his left hand while his right cradled her spine and his lips were set upon hers. She thought about screaming in surprise, but the expert way in which he kissed her made her forget about the room, the dress, or her confusion. It wasn't often Hermione Granger was baffled into forgetting her environment, but Draco Malfoy had a way of forcing her to do just that. His lips, full but not overly so, caressed against hers, batting away her sense of reason. He melted her like an ice cube, leaving her a puddle of dampness (particularly between her thighs). It took the clearing of a throat beside them for her to jump, realize her loss of inhibitions, and jerk away from his kiss.

To the side of them, a rather pointed looking wizard with dirty blond hair, at least twenty years their senior, raised a curious eyebrow. "You're not supposed to be up here."

"Pardon us," Draco said casually, feigning an embarrassment Hermione knew he didn't have. "Lost our way escorting my date to the powder room."

"Mhmm…" The wizard sounded skeptical but pleasant as he said, "Well, I'm afraid you've both taken a wrong turn."

"So it seems." Bashfully, Draco rubbed his hands down his robes and pretended to avert his gaze - however, Hermione could see the hint of a smirk playing across the corners of his lips. "Come, dear." With a graceful touch, he pressed his palm against Hermione's lower spine and guided her forward, past the leering wizard and out into the hallway - a wide, carpeted hallway with floating candles down the center of the ceiling, leading all the way to the hint of a staircase.

The wizard followed them out, so Hermione had no opportunity to question Draco's motives. Instead, she played the waiting game, allowing the handsome wizard to usher her toward the staircase in silence.

Almost in silence.

"Laugh into my shoulder," she heard him whisper under his breath. A skeptical gleam in her eye, she leaned sideways and giggled into his shoulder, to which he curled an arm around her shoulder and pulled her flush against him. "Great. Now that I have you close, listen carefully."

"Believe me, you have my full attention," she muttered, half irritated and half intrigued.

"When we get down these steps, no matter who you see, you  _insist_ we were invited."

"Well, obviously, I'm not going to run around shouting 'freeloaders', now am I?"

"No need to be a smartass."

"Even if I'm smart?"

"And have an arse…"

They made it to the end of the stairs and descended accordingly. Hermione held carefully onto the banister to keep from slipping. Her heart stammered in her chest as eye after watchful eye fell on the couple as they met the bottom of the stairs, but to her delight, it wasn't the entire party. Just a few older folk who probably noticed Draco immediately - after all, his white-blond hair was a dead giveaway. How on earth he thought they would 'subtly' crash a party was beyond her.

"Drink?" he asked as an elderly house elf approached them from the bottom of the stairs. Small tufts of white hair stuck out of his ears at odd angles, giving him a manic look as he offered out the beverages on a silver tray.

Hermione could hardly care about the drink - there was a poor house elf in the need of saving! To save face, she took the drink, but then she leaned over to whisper to the elf, "I promise you, I'll find out who your master is and demand they present you with clothes immediately."

With a squeaky gasp, the houself glared daggers at the witch, immediately disappearing from view with a snap of his fingers and reappearing on the other side of the ballroom, a contemptuous gleam in his eye.

"What did I do?" Hermione stood upright immediately, turning to Draco, who rolled his eyes.

"Not every house elf wants to be saved, Hermione."

"Well, it's not my fault if they don't know what's good for them," she huffed, taking her glass of champagne and swigging it into the back of her mouth in one go. It was far too bubbly for her liking, and after she swallowed, an enormous laugh erupted from her throat - without her permission. "Oh, damn it all. Giggle water." Her eyes drifted around the room, where several others tilted their glass to her in amusement, but no one seemed to look down on her.

"It's meant to be sipped," Draco muttered, mirroring his words. Right after, a small chuckle was his reward. "Shall we?" He offered his arm out, and she took it, albeit nervously. These types of events really weren't her scene, and especially when she didn't know who the owner of the home even belonged to!

"Is this what you consider fun?" she asked him with a quirk of an eyebrow, not waiting for him to answer. "Of  _course_ , it is. Crashing parties must be a Slytherin rite of passage."

"Why do you assume that right is only reserved for Slytherins?" he chided back. "Where's your sense of Gryffindor adventure?"

"In my  _less-tight_  dress."

"Don't be a sour sport. You wanted me to get out and have some fun."

"I meant by a nice meal."

"We can grab a meal here." Another house elf walked by them, carrying a platter of treats. Draco picked up two small containers and handed one to her. "Look. Cakes. I have a rather large sweet tooth, you know." He winked as she noticed two tiny forks were skewered gently into the center of cakes, beckoning them on. "Dessert?" There was a heaviness in his tone - and suggestiveness.

"Alright," Hermione laughed, removing her fork to scoop up a bite and forget the fact it felt much hotter in the room. "I can at least confirm this isn't the  _worst_ idea you've ever had."

"Thank you."

" _That_  was being a xenophobic arsehole for the good portion of your young life."

Draco's eyes narrowed into slits, but his smirk remained. "Thanks for drudging up the past...speaking of which…"

 _Clink, clink_! From the center of the room, the same man that had caught them upstairs held up a crystal flute glass, filled with presumably giggle water, using his wand to hover a spoon in midair to tap the cup. Magic was the only reasonable explanation as to why it echoed inside the hall.

"If I could have everyone's attention," said the wizard, smiling around at his guests - a hundred in attendance, at least. "It is my great honor to have gathered you all here this evening to celebrate my son's recent engagement. I'd say he picked out quite a catch." He raised his glass, gesturing across the room to a couple who looked to be about his age, both with slick, black hair and pug-like faces. Come to think of it, she did know someone else who resembled them quite a bit…

Just as it struck her, a smiling couple sauntered into the middle of the room to meet the wizard. One was a regal, slender woman with raven hair cut into a bob and deep burgundy lipstick.  _Pansy Parkinson!_ It had been years since Hermione had laid eyes on her - and in truth, Pansy looked far less pugly. She carried herself with poise, only matched with an elegant stride. On her arm, beefy, muscular, and entirely too full of himself, was -

"Cormac!?" Hermione whispered so loudly it came out more of a small squeak.

"Careful, love. I hear if you say his name three times, he appears in front of you and vomits dragon tartar on your shoes." When Hermione shot him an incredulous look, he added, " _I_  might not have been part of the Slug Club, but Blaise has a rather large mouth."

It took everything in Hermione to suppress a full on laugh, no giggle water needed. She watched as Cormac McLaggen stood beside his father, presumably. They looked about the same - both with those moronic, arrogant smiles. Pansy's, however, looked quite forced.

"No wonder you didn't want to tell me whose party we were crashing," said the brunette.

"We both know you would have refused otherwise." Draco licked his spoon suggestively, shooting her a wink out of the corner of his gaze. "My mother is here somewhere, no doubt kissing up to the worthy purebloods of the year. Disgusting, really."

Hermione gaped. Did she hear correctly? "You no longer think kissing pureblood behinds is necessary?"

"Let's just say someone I know has taught me otherwise. And it's arses, Granger. Not  _behinds._ You're not eleven anymore."

They both smiled at one another, barely even registering that the crowd around them was applauding, perhaps at the kiss Cormac and Pansy shared. All Hermione could think about was the way Draco set both of their empty cake cups and glasses on a wandering house elf's tray and reached over to take her hand.

"Now," said Draco, guiding her further into the crowd as the music began to light up again. "Would you care for a dance?"

"Aren't you worried we'll make a fool of ourselves?" she asked as she glanced around, aware now that Narcissa Malfoy was lurking about.

"What's the point in dance lessons if we don't utilize our accomplishments?"

"Yes, but...this is waltz music, not the Tango…"

He pulled her close. "I'm willing to give it a try if you are."

Couples began to pair up around them. Hermione glanced this way and that, trying to find a valid excuse for not being in the center of it all, but she realized nothing would deter the young Malfoy from getting what he wanted - and that was arousing, to say the least. So, she put her arms around his neck and set her feet, trying her best to accomplish the difficult task of standing in her ridiculous heels.

"Ready?" she asked.

The first step caused her to squeak out in pain - Draco forgot which foot to start off on and, accidentally, stepped directly on her toes. Shoes or no shoes, it didn't prevent the pain from shooting up her foot.

"Ow!"

"S-Sorry," he muttered, cheeks already flushed with pink. His confidence had been knocked down a few pegs, and Hermione instantly regretted the glare on her face. She softened it, cleared her throat, and shook her head.

"No, no. That's quite alright. Again?"

"Maybe this was a bad idea…"

"Oh, shut it," she snapped. "Shut up and dance with me."

And so he did. Hermione began counting the steps under her breath, and Draco kept lead, still slower than the normal waltz, but this time not flubbing it up to further injure Hermione's toes. After two minutes of successful dancing, Hermione stopped counting and relaxed her posture.

"See, now? Wonderful."

"Diggle best be careful, or he'll be out of a job," Draco smirked.

"Mmm," Hermione nodded. "Did you overhear the two of them yesterday? About the business not thriving like it should?"

"It's not our business, one way or the other," he pointed out.

"Yes, but-"

" _Draco_?"

They hadn't realized they'd moved close to the finger foods table until they turned around to spot Pansy Parkinson, a sandwich bite halfway to her lips, gawking at them.

"Oh...er...hello, Pansy." Draco stopped dancing but still kept a firm grip around Hermione's waist. "Fancy seeing you here."

"It's  _my_  party," she shot back, narrowing her eyes. "And I don't believe you were on the guest list...Cormac wouldn't have allowed it." The way her eyes dropped, saddened, had Hermione feeling a twinge of - dare she think it - sympathy for the poor woman.

"Pansy, there you are!" came a booming voice from behind them. "I've been looking for you, love-" The moment Hermione turned around to meet the sight of Cormac McLaggen, he choked on the giggle water he was sipping, releasing a strangled laugh that sounded more like a dying heina than a 'giggle.' "He-Hermione?"

"McLaggen," she replied curtly, her arm curling tighter around Draco's. "Lovely party."

"Haven't been sampling any dragon tartar, have you?" Draco smirked in Cormac's direction.

Cormac frowned. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. Distant memories, I suppose."

After Cormac's cheeks dusted a nice shade of magenta, he sidestepped around the couple and made his way over to Pansy, draping an arm around her shoulders. "Pansy, love, did you invite them?"

"Well, of course she did," said Draco immediately. "Right, Pans?" His eyes were pleading but confident.

"Of course," Pansy replied, never missing a beat. "Did you think I wouldn't invite my oldest and dearest friend to our engagement party?" Her eyes trailed scrutinizingly over Hermione. "And his...plus one?"

" _Love_ ," Cormac whispered, "I thought we agreed with the protests that inviting  _him_ here was not in the best interest of-"

"Oh, come now, McLaggan." Draco rolled his eyes. "You'd really keep two chums away from each other over politics?"

" _Yes._  Especially since I've considered running for a slot on the Wizengamot this spring…"

Hermione couldn't help it. She straight up laughed. "You? On the Wizengamot? As what?"

"What kind of question is that? As a member, of course."

Draco interjected, "I think what our dear Hermione here means is that they need  _brains_ on the council, not a moronic mascot."

"Draco Malfoy!" Pansy stomped her foot. "Take that back!"

"Sorry, Pansy. It just slipped out. I'll behave, I swear." With a curt bow reserved for pureblood society, Draco tugged gently on Hermione's arm and led her away from the couple, who now bickered by the sandwiches in heated whispers.

"That wasn't very nice, you know," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"Are you telling me to apologize?"

"Heavens, no!" She laughed. "That sod got exactly what he deserved. He was a grade-A tosser back in school. Handsy. I hated it."

"Probably overcompensating. McLaggen was probably  _Mclacking_ in the downstairs department, if you follow me. I hear he drank testosterone potions under the table for the better part of his teenage years."

"You're joking!"

"Is it really that surprising?"

Hermione thought about it. "No. Not really."

"And now McLaggen is marrying McSlaggen. What a perfect couple."

"She looked sad."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, obviously Cormac isn't her first choice. That's your Golden Boy, who never even gave her the light of day."

"Harry?" Raising an eyebrow, Hermione asked, "So, why marry him, then, if she doesn't love him?"

"Why does any aristocratic pureblood witch marry someone like him? The money, of course."

"Surely she isn't  _that_ shallow."

Draco snorted indignantly. "Granger, Granger, Granger...you have  _so_ much to learn about the real world. It's cute, really, that you'd think so highly of her. Cute and idiotic."

"You're a real charmer, you know that?" she shot back with snark.

"I do what I can."

"Still...I feel bad for her. Someone should tell her money isn't everything."

"Believe you me, Hermione; Pansy Parkinson isn't willing to learn that life lesson. Take it from someone who, up until recently,  _had_ all the money." He scratched the side of his cheek, eyes drifting out into the crowd. "Oh, and look what the metaphorical kneazle dragged in."

Following his gaze wasn't difficult - Narcissa Malfoy was easy to spot. Her glitzy, green dress robes were a sight to behold, rivaling even Hermione's attire. There was no way Hermione could have anticipated a woman of her age to have the figure that she did, but it was there. "Goodness. I suddenly feel like a fat cow."

"You're the furthest thing from a fat cow I've ever seen."

"But your mum...she's so...fit! Haven't you noticed?"

"She's my mother. Of course, I didn't notice."

Narcissa, as if sensing them, turned her eyes on the couple from across the room, eyebrows raised and lips pursed. She excused herself from the conversation she was party to and began sauntering in their direction.

"Shite," Draco muttered.

"Just act casual," Hermione whispered back. "You've every right to be here...sort of."

As a house elf passed them, Hermione grabbed up two shots of some clear substance, taking a whiff and handing it to Draco. "That's strong stuff. Down the hatch. I think we'll both need it." The pair kicked back their drinks. It felt like acid traveling down Hermione's throat, but that didn't stop her from chasing down the elf and grabbing two more just in time to make it back to Draco as his mother approached.

"Draco, darling, what a pleasant surprise," said Narcissa, batting her eyelashes.

Hermione handed over the shot to Draco and downed hers quickly. After she found the will to breathe again (the alcohol was quite strong) she gasped out, "Missus Malfoy. Pleasure."

"Oh. Yes. Hello, Miss Granger." Narcissa sounded putoff at having to address the younger witch. "Should have known you'd be in attendance. My son seems to be attached to your heels nowadays."

"Actually, I invited her," Draco said curtly, still managing to maintain his cool demeanor.

"Did you? I'm sure Astoria would have loved to attend."

"Well, Hermione knows the future groom," he replied back. "Also, I wanted her here, so…" With a shrug, he kicked back his drink.

"I hear Astoria and Ron are celebrating his brother Bill's birthday," said Hermione, trying to ease the conversation back to a civilized tone. Also, she might have just wanted to rub it in a little that Astoria and Ron were a thing. Just a little.

"I saw you two attempting to dance earlier." Narcissa smirked, and it was then Hermione realized he'd never really inherited the expression from his father. "That was rather...cute."

"Just wasn't our dance," muttered Draco, sticking his nose in the air.

"No?" his mother quipped back. "Such a shame. I would have loved to see what all of those dance lessons were worth. Just goes to show it never was about the dancing, was it?" Her sights set on Hermione like a cat looking at a frightened mouse. But a Granger was never one to be intimidated.

"I'll have you know, Draco is a wonderful dancer."

"I'm sure he is, dear. However, without the right partner, the dance ceases to be magnificent, wouldn't you agree?"

Draco narrowed his eyes and shoved his glass straight into his mother's hand, much like a child who was bored of his stuffed animal. He did the same for Hermione's, grabbed up her hand for the umpteenth time that evening, and said, "If it's a demonstration you require, we'll be more than happy to oblige."

"Draco?" Hermione gasped as he began to drag her out toward the dance floor. "Draco, what do you think you're doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Draco smirked back at her as he pulled her along. "I'm showing you off. If it's one thing my mother cannot stand, it's being proven wrong." He dragged her all the way to the maestro and convinced him, with a bit of Slytherin charm, to play a request. Then, he turned to Hermione and said, "Too late to back out now."

Hermione watched the sparkle in his eye - the one doused out by his mother weeks ago. It was here, fired up and ready. How could she say no?

"Let's give her a show, then."

* * *

**Next chapter promises a lemon. (Hearts)**   
**Please leave me some feedback!**   
**~A.**


	32. Dance a Tango to Hell

**My deepest thanks to those who have kept me sane these last few weeks. You know who you are and why. Happy Valentine's Day!**

**The biggest of love to LondonsLegend for beta'ing this for me. SHE'S COMING TO SEE ME! I'M SO EXCITED! Now if only we could get LightofEvolution a plane ticket...**

**~A.**

 

 ****  
  
This GORGEOUS cover art was created by the amazing[SleepyGrimm!](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/sleepygrimm)

* * *

Draco could feel it - the tightening in his gut which meant he was either about to do something very brave or extremely foolish. The word "both" came to mind as he accompanied (dragged) Hermione onto the dance floor riddled with aristocratic, opinionated schmucks.

He was nervous - boy, was he ever. It was true that he was a performer of sorts, always searching for a way to be in the limelight, but this...dancing...there were reasons he'd barely accompanied Pansy to the dance floor back during the Yule Ball, instead making excuses to spike the punch bowl and goof off with Crabbe and Goyle. At least Crabbe, Merlin rest his soul, would never have to see this specticle about to unfold.

"Breathe," Hermione reminded him. And he did. In. Out. Repeated it until he gave her a small nod of the head.

The music sounded distorted, like being encased in glass. His heart slammed in his ears, but one look in Hermione's eyes put his fears to rest. The ballroom melted and sizzled into nothingness. A lone spotlight shone over Hermione's face, beckoning him to pull her even closer to him. Okay, maybe there wasn't really a spotlight, but she was really all he could see. His hand brushed down the back of her dress as his tongue wet his lips.

One step. That's all it took to fall into place, and in an instant, they were dancing. Their bodies acted on impulse and muscle memory, gliding them across the dance floor. Draco had nearly forgotten why he was dancing - having a beautiful woman in his arms move with him in sensual ways in time with the beat was distracting.

"Draco," she whispered, and it reminded him to pull himself back to reality.

"Yes?" he managed out.

"You look...like you're somewhere else," she whispered just before their legs moved in a series of practiced kicks and steps.

Suddenly aware of the blood flowing down into his groin, he cleared his throat and whispered back, "I might be. Just a tad."

Luckily, she didn't catch on. "You're the one who wanted to-" He dipped her suddenly, causing her to pause. Noses touching and his hand against the small of her back, Draco smirked at her flustered blush. "...To show up your mother."

"Hmm…" He brushed the tip of his nose against hers, reveling in the way her breath ghosted his lips. "But now my mind is on other things."

Before Hermione could ask what the 'other things' were, he jerked her back upright, placed her delicately on her feet, and continued the Tango, this time with more drive behind his movements. And he wasn't the only one giving it their all - Hermione looked as graceful as she did while falling off the pedestal during the trust fall: like an angel carved out of heaven. Not that he believed in that sort of stuff, but…

"Do you trust me?" he asked, a seriousness etched in his voice.

Hermione blinked thoughtfully back at him. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but yes. Completely, and with my life."

As his chest swelled with pride, the corners of Draco's lips pried back in a handsome smirk. "On my mark, jump."

He waited with a keen ear for the right musical cue, and when he heard it, he nodded and Hermione jumped. Wordlessly, Draco used his magic to levitate her higher, using his arms as levies and hoisting her over his head. They spun in a circle, joined only by their fingertips now, as Hermione floated in the air, laughing at the sheer surprise of it all. The way her teeth glistened underneath the chandelier light made Draco dizzy with delight. Carefully, he brought her back down to the floor, where she landed with grace well beyond the prudish bookworm he'd originally thought her to be.

Applause rang out, but Draco didn't hear it. His pulse was thrumming in his ears as he grinned to Hermione.

His thoughts were interrupted when couples began to accompany them on the dance floor. It was a sight to see, especially considering his mother watched on from the far end of the room, bolts of lightning dancing across her irises and arms crossed across her middle in displeasure.

"You certainly know how to put on quite the show," Hermione muttered, grinning. She did a few kicks and turns with her legs, precise and unforgiving - just as the Tango beckoned her to be. Draco matched her with long glides and sharply turning her in place. In hindsight, Diggle (older or younger) would be proud of their accomplishments.

Draco soaked in Hermione's words, realizing just how comfortable he felt surrounded with all eyes on him. How long had it been since he'd felt this way? Months? Years? Time muddled when one felt anxious, foreboding stares everywhere one turned. But here, with Hermione - none of that mattered except the way their bodies moved with the music and the way she looked at him.

Like he meant something. Like he was  _someone worth more than just a name._

"I think," he mulled out loud, "a show is only as great as the performers - and having the right partner means everything." Feeling foolish at his words, he ducked his head and pulled her close, cheek to cheek, as to hide his reddening face. "Ignore that."

"You mean you spouting off philosophical proses? No, I think I'll hold it over your head the rest of your days." She giggled in his ear. "Doesn't that sound like fun?"

With the final notes brought forth by a taunting violin, the Tango finished with Hermione's leg wrapped around Draco's hip and her arm around his neck. His hands flexed around her waist, begging to scratch an instinctual itch.

"Why does the thought of you blackmailing me turn me on so damn much?" he muttered softly against her earlobe.

"Probably some unresolved psychological issues," she quipped back, a heaviness laced in her voice.

"Analytical little bookworm…"

"Insufferable twit."

"You're lucky we're in public."

Hermione's lips ghosted the shell of his ear. "We don't have to be."

Their faces drew apart so they could stare at each other properly. Assessing her blown pupils and flushed face, Draco no longer cared about crashing the damn party, impressing his mother, or even how tight his trousers had become. All he cared about was getting the Hell out of there and finding somewhere where the two of them could be alone together.

As if reading his mind, Hermione unwrapped herself from around him and took his hand. "Come on. I have an idea of where to go."

The face his mother made as they breezed past her, hand in hand, was priceless. Draco had only seen that look once before - the day Voldemort was defeated by Harry Potter.

* * *

**Stage Right: Draco and Hermione**   
**Location: Dimly lit, unknown to audience**

* * *

With a  _pop_ , Draco landed next to Hermione, his body tight and loose all at once from side-Apparating. The air smelled of fresh cleaner and rubber, and the floor was firm beneath his shoes.

" _Lumos maxima_ ," Hermione whispered beside him. It was only then Draco noticed she held her wand out, the tip glowing brightly before bursting out and hovering above their heads like a star roped down from the sky just for them.

"Where the devil are we?" Draco asked, squinting his eyes.

"A gymnasium of the secondary school from my hometown," she answered, tucking her wand behind her ear and smiling. Her heels clacked as she strode toward the center of the gym. "It would have been  _my_  school, had I been born muggle." When she reached the center, she kicked off her shoes and looked over her shoulder at him.

Draco cleared his throat. "You know, when you said you knew where we could go to be alone, this isn't what I had in mind."

"I know. But this is the only place in the entire building I remembered thoroughly. The real surprise is yet to come." Hermione offered out her hand. "Trust me?"

Relaxing at the fact that this was not, in fact, where Hermione had intended to take him, Draco's shoulder's eased, and he walked to the center of the gym, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips to give it a kiss along her palm. "Have to at this point, don't I?" He watched as Hermione picked up her heels and followed her toward the double doors, out into what appeared to be a Great Hall, similar to Hogwarts in the fact that there were large tables, but altered because they were all round.

"This way," Hermione beckoned, taking an immediate right down a smaller, open corridor. Another set of double doors, smaller this time, met them on their left, and Hermione unlocked them, not an ounce of hesitation in her tone.

"Hermione Granger: breaking and entering. This is already enough to hold over your head for backup blackmail."

"Must be all the alcohol in me," she noted, swinging the door open. "Whatever was in those last shots we did sure packed a punch. - Besides, Harry, Ron, and I used to do this sort of thing all the time." A small hiccup escaped her lips as she pressed a single finger to it in a 'hush' gesture. "Or is the great Draco Malfoy too afraid to bend the rules after all? I thought that's what you (hiccup) Slytherins were known for…"

Rolling his eyes, Draco pushed the door open wider and ushered Hermione inside. "I thought Gryffindors held their alcohol better.  _Lumos._ " The tip of his wand (which he had brought forth only seconds before) lit to life, revealing a set of stairs to their right and a row of chairs to their left.

"Yessss…" Hermione grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the stairs. "This way! Pip pip!"

"You are aware that the word 'pip' means goodbye, aren't you?"

"Not the way I'm using it. Quit spoiling the fun." She stopped at the top of the stairs, untucked her wand, and once again produced a bright light to reveal… "Tada!" Hermione gestured around. "It's a performance stage!"

Draco scratched the tip of his nose. "Er...lovely." He eyed the half-painted sheetrock backdrop and fake trees. "...Why?"

"Because….for many reasons." She tucked her arms behind her back and swayed side to side. "But...do you know why I even decided to take Tango lessons in the first place?"

He thought about it. "Can't say it's ever come up."

"Ginny. It was one of the things she wanted to learn on her bucket list."

"You have a list...for a bucket?" Draco knew he had to be missing something. "Muggle customs are stranger and stranger…"

"No, it's not a list for a bucket," Hermione chided. "It's a list of things you want to accomplish before you die. Or, as the muggles say, 'kick the bucket.'"

"What does kicking a bucket have to do with dying?"

"Draco. Focus." She placed her hands on her hips. "The point is, I have a bucket list, too. And, on that list...it's to do something  _naughty_ in a place not meant for naughty things."

It took everything within Draco not to laugh out loud at the word 'naughty' coming from Hermione Granger's mouth. "And you chose your not-secondary-school?"

"I think you're missing a crucial piece of the puzzle, Draco Malfoy." With a flick of her wand, Hermione's dress fell to the floor, revealing her taut figure masked only by a strapless bra and thin, lacy knickers. She dropped her wand amongst the pile of clothing and took a step back. "I chose  _you_  to do it with."

That caught Draco's attention, but before he could react, she laughed and turned, running off toward the side stage curtains.

"I'm beginning to see the appeal of this 'bucket list'," Draco smirked, removing his blazer and folding it neatly beside Hermione's crumpled dress robes. While reaching for the top of his dress shirt, he headed into the curtains, finding himself backstage. There were weighted sandbags, more obscure props, and even two oversized couches shoved against the wall, but not a Hermione in sight. Following the sound of a giggle, he strolled toward the next source of light - a doorway which led into the stage's dressing room. There he found Hermione seated atop the counter meant for makeup and wigs, her back pressed against a mirror the length of the entire wall, her legs crossed and arms draped loosely at her sides.

"Hello," she whispered.

With a slow raise of the eyebrow, Draco replied, "Hi there." He took a step forward. "Found you."

"So you did."

Another step. "I'm beginning to think you can never fully be trusted with alcohol in your system."

"Guess you'll have to keep a good eye on me," she replied, biting her lower lip and extending one of her slender arms toward him. Her fingers reached just short of his button down. Draco removed the space between them, allowing her graceful fingers to slide down the trail of buttons along his front, her eyes shimmering with what could only be described as concentration shrouded in lust. There wasn't a single expensive broomstick or pair of dragonhide shoes that could distract Draco in this moment; he was too preoccupied with the way her fingers hesitated just short of his trouser belt.

"I couldn't keep my eyes off you if I tried," he muttered, noting her plump lips and bossom wrapped pracariously by her strapless bra. "Which, for the record, I'm making no attempts to do."

"To look at me?"

"To look away." His hand, having always possessed a mind of its own, skimmed across her collarbone delicately. It stopped at the base of her throat, noting the subtle dips and curves there. Up it traveled until he cupped her chin with his hand, turning her face from one side to the other, nearly possessive and entirely observing. Her eyes fluttered shut just as an airy sigh found its way between her teeth.

Her wild curls. Her curvaceous hips. The way her soft, yet flat, stomach folded - just enough cushion to give off a healthy figure. It all overcame him, and his tongue glided over his upper lip. Hungry. Draco was hungry, and only Hermione Granger could sate him.

His fingers brushed past her blushing cheek and slipped into her wavy locks until they found the base of her skull. His other hand slipped around, gathering her hair until he had it fashioned in his fist like a bun. Smirking, Draco whispered, "You'll tell me if I push your limits, yes?"

Her reply was a breathy moan, leaning her head back, encouraging him.

The next moment, he pulled her hair and arched her back until her breasts looked as if they were on display for him; in a way, they were. Hermione's thin fingers dug into the wooden table beneath her, scrambling for purchase and toes curling. On instinct, her legs parted, baring the sweetest of treats to him.

"What a naughty girl you are," he teased, realizing perhaps the alcohol within him had lifted his inhibitions slightly. He could hardly believe the Casanova-like way he spoke - could the clumsy, nervous dolt he was inside really feel this confident? "You really bring out another side of me…"

"Mmm...so do you," she hissed out, "And yet your mother seems to still think we're worlds apart."

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"Perhaps bringing up my mother right now isn't the best time?" he suggested, gesturing between them. "Given the state of things."

"Right. No. You're completely right." Hermione's eyes popped open, and a thin veil of pink dusted her cheeks. "Sorry about that." Her arm reached up, grabbed him by the shirt, and yanked him forward until their lips crashed violently against each other. It was less romantic and more awkward than the way films and books made it out to be, and yet Draco found himself with a throbbing cock - after all, he was still a man, having been able to push aside the mentioning of his mother and nearly busted lip because  _sex_. No male in their right mind would be pulled out of the moment. No. For the dignity of all men, he would push through.

He released Hermione's hair and set to work on her bra, giving it a quick pinch in the back (no magic needed - it was all technique.) The garment slipped down between them, and Draco wasted no time in cupping what were rightfully his now. Warm, supple, entirely fun to play with - breasts were the real bees knees. As he did so, his tongue skirted across Hermione's lower lip, not to ask for access, but simply as a courtesy. He claimed her mouth with ferocity the next moment, fingers flicking her budding nipples for effect. He rolled the nubs between his fingers, eliciting a sharp gasp from the woman beneath him.

Hermione's leg curled around his hip, jerking him forward. His knees knocked against the counter's edge, but it didn't deter him. He simply let his fingers dance down her breasts, stomach, and finally her hips before he scooped his thumbs underneath the material of her panties and slipped over the curves of her thighs. The way she held her legs straddled in the air so he could do so caused a malfunction in his brain, and he reminded himself to breathe. Breathing was key if he was going to satisfy her. No oxygen? No sexy time.

"Draco," Hermione whispered, hands gripping the edge of the counter and legs splayed, baring herself to him. "In me. I need you in me.  _Now._ "

Draco didn't hesitate, hastily grasping at the belt buckle around his hips and unfastening it. He didn't care if he looked anxious. Damn it all, he  _was_. In a matter of seconds, his pants were loose around his hips, and he was lining himself up, preparing to take her. The slickness against the head of his cock had him leaking pre, and he prayed to whomever would listen that he wouldn't come here and now.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror when he pushed into her: cheeks flushed, hair disheveled, shirt half-buttoned and her ankles across his shoulders. He didn't recognize himself; he looked so  _content_.

Hermione's moan made his eyes flicker back to her gorgeous face, taking in the way her mouth made a pretty 'O' as he fit inside her to the hilt. Her golden skin against his ivory, the way she pulsed around his cock, how her breasts bounced up and down with each shaky breath as she waited for him to move - Merlin, this was exquisite.

"Fuck me," she muttered.

Draco smirked as he slid himself out to the head of his cock before slipping slowly back into her, putting effort into driving deeper within her.

"I said... _fuck me_." Hermione rolled her hips -ohhh, fuck. Yeah, that was the ticket.

"Fuck you, Granger?" he teased, refusing to be outdone as he worked his hips in and out at a gruelingly sluggish speed. "Is that what you want me to do?"

"Mmmf...quit playing with me." She fisted his shirt with one of her hands, using the other for balance as he rocked leisurely into her.

"I thought you Gryffindors were all about being playful."

"I thought you Slytherins liked to put on a good show."

The two caught eyes with each other then, competitive as they were. Draco leaned forward, popping his hips as he captured her lips in a biting kiss that made her scream - in a good way. "Oh, I'll give you a show." He guided her legs down to wrap around his hips and gripped onto hers before picking up the pace and rocking with purpose. Her breasts bounced. All of her bounced. It was hot to say the least, and it made Draco's already rigid cock as hard as it could possibly get. Even those cute curls of hers bounced in ways that drove him wild.

No, he didn't have a hair fetish. But a Granger fetish...well, he wasn't taking that card off the table just yet.

"Dra-Draco," she moaned, resting the back of her head against the mirror as their skin slapped together. "Ho-Holy...oh fuck…" Her hand slipped underneath her, and she slid down the counter - but that was alright by Draco. Now that half of her spine rested against the counter and the upper half still against the mirror, he backed up slightly, taking her with him and finding a new, quicker pace as he slammed into her again and again. Her ass hanging precariously off the edge of the counter? That looked delicious as Hell. "Fu-uh-uh-ohhhh...fuck."

"Is that your favorite word?" he chided, pistoning his hips faster, "Fuck?"

"Fuck you."

"You are. And enjoying it a lot, I dare say." With a sly thought, he slowed down until he had her groaning beneath him. That's when he slipped out of her, pried her up to stand, and whipped her around in a flash, holding her around her waist not only because it was seductive, but she looked too flushed to stand straight. "Look at yourself. You're dripping." And she was - down her thighs, a trickle of slickness gave away just how turned on she really was. Once again, Draco bunched her hair up inside his fist, this time bending her over the counter and forcing her to stare at herself. With his free hand, he lined his cock up, slipped back inside of her, and watched the way her eyes faltered shut in bliss.

"No, no," he cooed, gripping her hair tighter and forcing her eyes open. "Watch yourself. I want you to see me pleasure you."

When he began moving his hips again, he followed Hermione's eyes in the mirror - the way she watched her tits bounce, the way a stray curl fell over her right eye, the way her ass rolled like a wave from the force of his thrusts.

"That's it," he encouraged. "Look at how beautiful you are. See you the way I see you."

She obeyed, taking in the scene in front of her, moaning and gasping at each new angle or variation. When Draco was sure she wouldn't look away, he released her hair and felt himself growing closer to the edge as her curls fell over her shoulders and framed her face. He took that free hand now and reached for the wand holster at his hip along his loosened buckle. It was awkward, and his thrusts slowed down noticeably, but after he whispered the spell of his choosing, he saw the cogs in Hermione's head turn. She nodded only once, and then he brought the vibrating hilt of his wand underneath and between her thighs, positioning it against her clit.

She immediately gasped. "Ooh, yesss…"

Draco rocked downtempo now, focusing on the angle instead of the speed, realizing how uncomfortable it was to be hunched over Hermione with his arm forced in a certain position - but the way she sighed in pleasure...it was all worth it.

"Think you can come this way?" he whispered. A nod was her response, and so he continued on, letting his wand become slick with her essence and building her up like a stack of books. Hermione liked books, and Draco liked watching them fall, so it really was the best analogy he could come up with. Almost suddenly, and without warning, Hermione clenched tight enough around him for him to notice at the same time that she slapped an open palm against the mirror and whispered, "Draco…"

His wand collapsed to the floor with a  _plink._  Draco forgot himself, so caught up in the moment that he began to drive his cock into her without hesitation. Faster, faster, with Hermione moaning his name until he felt himself nearing the edge…

He pulled out just in time to watch the pearly droplets of his cum drizzle onto Hermione's round ass cheeks. If the old myth about ancestors watching over him at all times was true, he'd feel slightly vulnerable right now.

In and out. In and out. He struggled to catch breath as he stared down at the stunning, cum-soaked Hermione still bent over the counter.

"I think I rather like bucket lists."

* * *

**Would love to hear your thoughts!**   
**~A.**


	33. A Mother's Love

**First off, I want to thank those of you who have continued to support me and my mental health through the past few months. It's been a roller coaster, and I couldn't have gotten through it without some very special people. You know who you are, and just because we don't chat all the time doesn't mean I don't love you any less. Without you, my world would be extremely bleak.**

**This chapter wouldn't have been possible without some extraordinary ladies: To Sam Wallflower, who always keeps my Spanish tip-top, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. My Spanglish is jumbled, but you always seem to make sense of it. To LightofEvolution, thank you for listening to my approaches as I bring Tango to its dramatic story arch - without your constant support and listening ear, I would be lost. To waymay, I'm so very thankful to have you in my life. George's invention in this is perfect, and I love you for the suggestion when my mind was a blank. And finally, to LondonsLegend, my AMAZING editor, I had the most RAD time when you came to visit me this month. Eating cheese and drinking wine, going to a casino to see Christopher Titus, and visiting Crystal Bridges with you was just the escape I think we both needed. And I thank you for taking the time to beta this chapter for me. You bougie af.**

**I'm attempting to get back on a schedule for ya'll. It's tough, but I'm working on it! Writing is like going back to the gym - once you stop, you need to build yourself up again. I've been doing personal writing sprints in 30 minute intervals to workout my brain, and so far, it's been working. I wrote all of this with strep throat, so forgive me if it seems jumbled. But I haven't written like this in a long time; I jumped in, sink or swim. And I loved it.**

**~A.**

* * *

**Stage Right: Douglas B. Diggle**   
**Setting: His cramped corner office**

* * *

Douglas B. Diggle wasn't a patient man. He'd tried and failed to perfect the craft on numerous occasions, but the gift had simply skipped a generation and bestowed itself to none other than his son, Gregory. Douglas' wife, bless her resting soul, had also been given the elusive gift, but it didn't seem fair as he sat in front of an office desk piled high with late notices and demands of funds.

There was another thing Douglas wasn't great at: money management.

With a sigh worthy of the Hall of Fame for Exasperated Sounds, he tossed a scratched up piece of parchment scribbled with attempts to balance the books just as a knock came to his door, adding further to his stress. Perhaps it was a new patron wishing to adhere to the wonders of dance? Maybe they had a fat coinpurse as well?

Alas, as the door opened, it was only the fruit of his loins, Greg, peering around the door. "Father, do you have a moment?"

"Of course,  _hijo mío_ ," Douglas said, ushering Greg in with a wave of his arm and nearly knocking a pile of paperwork over in the process. It took quick wandwork to place the parchment under a sticking spell. "What can I do for you today?"

"Er…" He watched his son take in his disheveled appearance, lack of mustache wax on his upper lip included. "There's someone here to see you."

"Oh?" Diggle's ears perked up.

"I wouldn't get too excited," Greg continued. "It's...Narcissa Malfoy."

Douglas nearly dropped his wand. "Narcissa Malfoy.  _The_ Narcissa Malfoy?"

"Apparently," Greg said in a dull way, waving his hand about as if he was swatting a particularly annoying gnat. "Though what she wants is unapparent."

"Do you suppose this has anything to do with her son?"

Greg quirked an eyebrow. "You know, I had the faintest inkling it just might."

Greg's snarkiness went over his father's head as Douglas waved his wand wrist again,  _accio'_ ing a hand mirror to float in front of him. With a few quick touches, and some mustache wax from his desk drawer, he managed to make his facial hair somewhat acceptable. After banishing the mirror back on top of the shelf nearby, he raised a theatrical eyebrow and smirked toward his son. "See her in."

One roll of the eyes later, Greg retreated back from whence he came. Time seemed to crawl at a snail's pace as Douglas awaited his guest, pondering all of the reasons she could be here. Was it to commend him on his teaching abilities to train the practically untrainable (Draco)? Well, of course! But what else could it be? He twirled his fingers along his mustache in thought as the door opened, and a woman entered.

She was a thin one, but strong in posture and sharp as nails behind those eyes. Narcissa Malfoy would have made an excellent ballerina, thought Diggle, as she glided across the room and took a seat in the worn armchair across from him. She didn't at all flinch as it squeaked.  _A fine poker face, indeed_.

" _Hola, precioso capullo de rosa_ ," he said, tilting his head to the side. "To what do I owe the pleasure of  _tu visita_  today?"

"A beautiful rosebud, Mister Diggle?" Narcissa replied, her lips tracing into a thin line meant to be a smile. "I've heard rumors of your flattery, however - I am not so easily impressed."

Diggle leaned back in his seat. "Ah, you speak the language of lovers?"

"Any language could be construed as such, could it not?" she quipped back, folding her hands in her lap. "Though, apparently, your linguistic outreach far surpasses words."

"You refer to your son's newfound gift for  _baile?_  Quite an impressive sight, no?"

Narcissa pursed her lips. "No."

There was a stir in Douglas' chest. "¿ _Perdón_?"

"I believe you heard me."

"I-I-"

"That isn't to say your mastery in the art of dance coaching goes unnoticed, Mister Diggle," Narcissa said with the air of a backhanded compliment. "However, my son was meant to enter into your class to find the art of passion between his betrothed, not some... _commoner_."

" _¿Plebeyo?_ " Diggle snarled the word at her in Spanish, taken aback. "Would you also refer to my late  _esposa_ as such?"

"Oh dear. It seems I have struck a nerve...good." Narcissa sat compliantly. "Now we're even, Mister Diggle, and we can continue on to the matters at hand." Her eyes trailed carefully around the room, resting on the pile of late notices.

A wicked smile crept up her lips.

"There are more rumors about the greatest showman of our generation," she continued. "One of which being that he likes to dabble in the art of the gamble." She plucked one of his notices from the pile and raked her gaze along the words there. "For someone so utterly famous, your money management skills are found wanting."

Douglas had heard just about enough. "If you've come to berate me for teaching your son to find his inner  _pasión,_ you may see yourself to the door. I don't care how high up on the proverbial food chain you are, Señora Malfoy - I will not tolerate a verbal lashing for doing my students justice."

"On the contrary," Narcissa smirked back, maleficence flickering behind her stone-colored eyes. "I've come to offer you a proposition." With a snap of her fingers, a coin purse the size of a baby's head and made from blue satin appeared out of thin air and landed in Douglas' lap. "What you'll find here is enough galleons to pay off your debt, along with a settlement large enough to place yourself in retirement and still leave enough for your handsome son when they day comes, should you pass on."

Douglas blinked as he stared down at the coinpurse. Curiosity got the best of him, and he peered inside, eyes widening to the size of small dinner plates. He choked on his own spit twice before managing to find enough air to form a coherent sentence. Babbling, he spat out, "¿ _Qu-Qué?...¿Por qué?_..What game are you playing?"

"Why, Señor Diggle," Narcissa said mockingly, "the game of cupid's arrow, of course." Her grin widened. "In short, I'd like to buy out your dance studio. You would be able to pay off all of your debts, as I've said, and perhaps even open up shop somewhere far away from here. I really don't care."

Douglas sat staring at the pile of money in his lap, a blank expression on his face. "..I couldn't possibly...family studio...very important to my late wife…and my son-"

"Would you rather lose your studio to the bank?" Narcissa gestured to the piles upon piles of bills. "Either way, you didn't think you'd be able to get out of this mess intact, did you?"

Stiffening his posture, Douglas muttered back, "Business has picked up lately. I wouldn't count us out just yet."

"Mmm...and if it were to let out about your gambling debts? What then? Would that sully your reputation, do you think?"

"¡ _Chantaje_! ¿ _Cómo te atreves_?"

"That's the art of the deal, Mister Diggle." Another snap of her fingers, and the coin purse disappeared. "You have twenty-four hours to think it over. After that...I'll be visiting my dear friend, Rita Skeeter, for lunch." Gracefully, she arose from her chair, once again ignoring the painfully loud squeak of the springs. With a nod of the head, she left nearly in the same way that she came, but with more of a smirk draped across her lips.

* * *

**Stage Left: The Revolution Task Force**   
**Setting: The Joke Shop**

* * *

"Alright. Get ready for the time of your life." George Weasley rounded the front desk, grinning ear to ear. Seated on inflatable bubble tables (new to the line of unpatented joke shop gimmicks destined to roll out on Friday) were Hermione, Draco, Ron, Astoria, and Daphne. Blaise refused to sit, instead opting to stand up, arms crossed, a scowl on his handsome face.

"Time of my life, he says," grumbled Blaise, "but he's said that about the last five products he's unveiled, and I've yet to be impressed."

"Blaise!" hissed Daphne under her breath. "Watch your tongue!"

"Why don't you watch it for me, love?" Blaise winked. "You know, like you did last night-"

"I really don't need to hear this!" Astoria clamped her hands over her ears.

Hermione caught Draco pretending to cough into his hand to stifle a laugh just as George held up the most peculiar looking object to date: a green and brown box with a small handle on the side meant to crank.

"It looks like a Jack in the Box," Hermione noted, leaning in with interest as the purebloods around her sent out confused glances toward one another. Only Ron and George seemed to understand the reference.

"Dad had one sitting around in the attic - snuck it home from work, he did," George explained. "I call it  _George's Giant Jester Box._ Costs a galleon to make, and we can sell it for at least double, if not triple, that."

"But...what does it... _do_?" asked Blaise with a huff of annoyance lodged in his throat.

"Hopefully it's better than those Webfoot Wafers you had us eat earlier," Draco pointed at his feet, which were finally returning to a normal shape, though there was still a bit of webbing between his toes.

"What Draco  _means_ to say," Hermione interjected, "is that if you plan on baking gillyweed into the wafers, you have to account for the gills as well."

"We're lucky Hermione remembered the water bubble charm, or we'd all be fish outta water," said Ron gravely, rubbing the sides of his neck. "Sorry, 'Mione."

"Well, I, for one, am excited to see this newest invention," forced out Daphne with a nod.

"Great," George grinned. "So you'll wind up the box, then?"

Daphne's eyes widened, no doubt out of fear. "Oh, um, well...I tried the Smell-O-Vision Binoculars...it would be rude of me to go next. - But I'm sure Blaise-"

"Ohohohoh - no." Blaise stomped his foot. "You're not getting that box anywhere near me. For all I know, it'll give me bad breath or three noses."

"Wrong guesses, but not bad ideas," replied George, looking around at the others. "Hermione? Would you do the honors?"

She'd been afraid it would come to this. This entire afternoon, Hermione had let the others take turns trying out Ron and George's new inventions, hoping to come across a tame one she herself could volunteer for. But they'd all gone around the circle, and now it only left her. She breathed in through her nose, out her mouth, and nodded. "Alright. Lay it on me, George."

"That's the Gryffindor way!" George's jaw looked like it might crack from how wide he was smiling as he handed the box off and backed away. "Not even Ronniekins knows what this one does."

"Please stop calling me that," Ron groaned, blushing as Astoria giggled.

"Never in a million years, baby brother." George gestured to the box in Hermione's lap. "Well. Go on, then."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she watched Draco scoot further away from her, his bubble chair nearly rolling out from underneath him in the process. Once he was a safe distance away, he waved to her and said, "Carry on."

"Oh, for heaven's sake…" She pinched her fingers around the wind up crank and began to turn it, listening to the musical interlude. She half-expected to hear 'Pop Goes the Weasel' out of nostalgia, but instead, it was a melodic reprise of the Bulgarian Quidditch Team's fight song. On and on she turned, ready for something to pop out at any moment...any moment now…

After two full rounds of the song, she huffed, stopping. "It isn't doing anything," she stated irritably.

Suddenly, the box exploded in a puff of white smoke, and then she felt the scrambling of tiny legs crawling up her arms.

"SPIDERS!" Ron screamed and fell out of his chair as Hermione felt fear prick her like a needle. Instinct kicked in, and she flew up out of her chair, brandishing her wand and shouting, " _Immobulus_!" To her horror, the spiders continued crawling up her arms and robes.

"What the actual fuck, Weasley!?" Draco growled, rushing to her and trying to bat the spiders away; they clinged to her clothes like they were glued before disappearing in another puff of white smoke.

As the smoke cleared, Draco's hands lay rested against Hermione's breasts.

"Draco, the spiders are gone."

"Mmh, yes, so they are."

"So…?" Hermione sighed. " _Get your hands off_!" She swatted him on the arm hard enough for him to jump, which caused Blaise to roar in laughter. "Honestly, you're incorrigible!"

Sniggering, Draco winked at her. "Easy there, Granger. This is a joke shop, remember? I still respect you at the end of the day and all of that fluff." He picked up the small box now at Hermione's feet, observing it in its original state.

"It's inspired by boggarts," George explained proudly, "though it's limited to five different creepy crawlies, figuring out which one best scares you and creating the illusion."

"That's…" began Astoria.

"Horrifying," Daphne finished.

"That's by far the most horrible invention you've ever come up with," Ron stated, aghast. "We're supposed to be sellin' these to little kids!"

"Yeah, and if Fred and I had found one of these, you'd bet your freckled bum we'd have given you one, little brother." George took the box from Draco.

"You're not seriously considering letting children buy those, are you?" Hermione gasped.

"...Yeah?" George blinked. "What's the problem?"

Before anyone could explain how horrible of an idea it was to let children interact with such a diabolical box, the bell above the door rang.

"I thought we locked that door," George muttered, glancing over at Ron; the tips of his ears turning red told enough for everyone to know he'd forgotten to lock up. "Sorry, mate, we're closed until Friday."

Hermione turned around toward the door, expecting to see some teen in search of a love potion, but instead found the strained face of Gregory Diggle looking directly at Draco.

" _You_ ," he seethingly whispered, taking a step closer.

Draco shoved his hands inside his pockets, on the defensive. "Yes, I know I'm rather debonair, Diggle, but that's hardly a reason to barge in unexpectedly to a place you weren't invited."

It all happened in a flash - Greg charged at Draco quicker than any of them expected, and before they knew it, he had a wand pointed straight under Draco's chin. Draco, cool as a cucumber, merely raised a careful eyebrow.

"I ought to hex you right here and now," Greg growled, unwittingly pressing his wand harshly against Draco's skin. The tip of his wand glowed a fiery red.

"Oi, mate," said Ron, trying to diffuse the situation, "slow down, now. I know Malfoy's a right git, but that's no reason to-"

"He sold it."

Everyone around the room stared in bewilderment.

"I did what?" Draco questioned.

"Not  _you_. My father! He sold the studio." If Greg's eyes could cut, Draco's eyes would have been gouged out by now. "This is  _your_ fault.  _¡_ _Imbécil_! "

" _My_  fault?" Draco scoffed, feigning boredom. "How in Merlin's name is your father selling his drabby dance studio anyone's fault but his own?"

"Because he sold it to  _her_.  _Your mother."_

An icy glaze settled around the room, coaxing all those in attendance. Even Draco's facade wavered as his eyebrows crinkled. A pregnant pause befell the room.

"Come again?" Draco whispered.

Greg seemed to realize how he'd let his anger get the best of him as he noticed his wand against Draco's throat. Slowly, his eyes trailed over to Hermione, and she realized he looked lost - more lost than she'd ever seen him.

Greg took a step back, removing his wand but refusing to lower it. "Your mother came by yesterday morning and made an offer to my father to buy the studio. And he…" He trailed off.

Draco's face shrouded in darkness. "I don't see what the big deal is," he shrugged, though his face said otherwise. "So you'll open up a new one."

"You don't get it," Greg sighed, his wand arm beginning to tremble. "That studio...it belonged to my  _mother. I_ was supposed to inherit it. It's...it was the  _last_ bit of her I had." His eyes narrowed. "My mother was everything to me. While my father pranced around trying to make a name for himself, my mother was the only  _parent_ I had guiding me through life. - And now, thanks to you, it's being ripped from me."

It was like a nightmare was taking place right before Hermione, but she couldn't do a thing about it. Guilt flooded her heart. And by the look on Draco's face, she wasn't the only one overwhelmed with it.

"I see…" Draco's eyes dropped to the floor. "She'd really do anything to get her way, wouldn't she?"

"We can fight this," said Hermione, taking a step forward.

"How?" Greg snapped back. "Just how do you intend to fight one of the wealthiest widows in Europe?"

"I…" For once, Hermione Granger, the world's wisest witch, didn't have a response. She knew Narcissa Malfoy was ruthless, cunning, and all of the qualities of a Slytherin. But she never imagined she would go to such lengths to punish Draco for stopping a marriage - practically burning every bridge he had built whilst finding himself. Could she really be so determined to set him on a path he didn't want? What kind of mother could damn her son so?

Draco pushed Greg's wand out of his face and sidestepped around him, making his way over to Hermione. Quietly, he kissed her on the forehead before gathering up his coat and heading toward the door.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked. "Draco?"

He opened the door, and the little bell above it  _dinged_. "I'm going to fix this. Once and for all."


	34. Allegro

**Hey, all. It's a shorter chapter, but I think it packs a punch. The most amazing beta love to LondonsLegend! Also, I have a new fic out called, "Rewrite the Stars" you might enjoy. (It's a Dramione). My friend LightofEvolution just finished her fic, "Shared Hell" recently, and it's bloody brilliant. She's coming out with a sequel, so you might want to jump on reading before she gets that out!**

**Thanks for all of the support!**

  
**~A.**

* * *

**"Be a lover, not a figher. But always fight for what you love."**  
~Unknown.  


* * *

**Chapter 34: Allegro**

* * *

**Center Stage: Draco Malfoy**   
**Setting: The dark, dismal cooridor of furstration - aka, his mother's office.**

Walking into his mother's office in the late afternoon, Draco wasn't entirely sure what to expect. There was a lump in his throat the size of a snitch, impairing his ability to breathe and thus making it much harder to concentrate. He'd tried not to focus too hard on the whispers and stares when he'd entered the building; people were bound to talk.  _So let them_.

But what he hadn't expected for sure was his mother sipping tea idly, a second teacup already poured at the opposite side of her desk. Two sugar cubes and a small container of creamer sat beside it - just the way Draco liked it.

He said not a word as he approached, shutting the door quietly, but briskly, behind him. A game of negotiations was never won by speaking first. Even if his mother had planned this very moment from the beginning of her treachery, he would not be ensnared to take the bait. However, he needed to look the part of an unassuming prodigal son, so he took his place in the chair across from his mother and dumped the sugar cubes carefully into his tea - not too much to cause it to spill, but enough that it threatened to, causing his mother unease. If there was one thing Narcissa Malfoy was, it was meticulous. Things had a place, and anything that threatened to rock the boat - or the tea, for that matter - was to be shunned.

Deciding the creamer wouldn't be poisoned or drugged with some sort of compliance potion, Draco tilted some into his cup and plucked the stirring spoon from the side of the tea plate. As he stirred, he noticed how his mother strummed her fingers lightly over her schedule book.

Good. She was growing impatient.

After a sip of tea, where he purposefully slurped as loud as he could, he batted away any residue with the napkin provided.

Then, and only then, did he look his mother in the eyes.

 _Come on, you old bat,_ he thought. His thoughts dried up, however, the moment his mother's lips peeled back into a devious smirk fit for an evil queen.

"How's the tea, dear?"

Draco's left eyelid twitched ever so slightly.  _That smug_ -"Bit weak, if I'm being honest." The both of them knew that the tea was the furthest thing from his meaning.

"Mmh, yes. I suppose when you've become exposed to bitter, common flavors, something refined would become lost on the palate. Such a shame."

They glared at each other, neither one loosening the reins on their seats of power. Though, if Draco was being honest with himself, he knew his mother held most of the cards in this deck. Hopefully, he could find a way to outsmart her, even with the disadvantage.

"Why don't we cut away the red tape here and get down to sickles and knuts. You're out of control."

"Am I?"

"Don't play coy. What you're doing is beyond deranged."

Narcissa's head tilted slightly. "No, dear. What I'm doing is protecting my son from making one of the largest mistakes of his life."

Draco lost his cool both emotional and physically - his blood boiled under his skin like an inferno. "And tell me, Mother, what mistake am I making this week? Are my socks the wrong shade of black? Have I parted my hair the wrong way? What about my shirt? Is it wrinkle free? Not wrinkled enough? Where do you draw the line at my life mistakes and my personal happiness?" His glare was a force to be reckoned with as he took another sip of tea.

"You know that's not what I mean."

"Isn't it? For once in my life, I've taken charge of, well...my life! And you've done nothing but heave-ho all of my actions ever since I decided that Astoria might not be the one." His teacup clanked down on its plate with furocity.

"Oh honestly, Draco. Don't you throw that codswallop of martyrdom in my face. All of your life I've looked after you. I lied to the Dark Lord himself because I thought there could be a chance we might make it out of that bloody war with a scrap of our lives. And for years I've begged you -  _pleaded_  with you to set your feet on the ground and firm up. Tell me what it is about being seen with a muggleborn that pleases you so much? Is it the thrill of rebellion?"

"Is that what all this is about? Hermione's blood status? Are you really that  _shallow_?"

" _Don't_  you come into  _my_ office and accuse  _me_ of being shallow!" Narcissa snapped, the smug smirk erased from her face. "For years I've watched you chase schemes and women. For years I've watched you dwindle your inheritance and efforts away. Astoria was the first good, sensible decision you made. And now you're throwing it all away again, chasing a pretty skirt because - what? She's different?" Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Don't talk to me about shallow thoughts, Draco, when you're the one who knows them all too well."

Her words smacked Draco right in the face like a glove hexed with a stinging jinx. "...She's more than a pretty skirt." It was true, Draco had told his mother he'd been on many dates before Astoria. But- "I lied." It was hard to say, but if this is why his mother had been to Hell and back fighting him on this, she deserved to know the truth. "I…" His mouth dried up like he'd swallowed a pastry. "I lied to you when I told you I was out with this witch or that."

"What?" Narcissa was thoroughly perplexed, and for good reason. "But all of those nights you couldn't stay for dinner because you had a date-"

"-I was drinking with Blaise." It almost seemed comedic now, if it wasn't so pathetic. "Mother, I told you that I was out on dates so you wouldn't worry about me. I didn't think I could stand the look on your face a moment longer when I'd come home and shut myself away in my potions lab. I didn't want you to know that I couldn't find a date. At all."

The anger that had been burning under his skin dissipated. And, if he hadn't trained his eyes to the teacup in front of him, he would have noticed the same worn look on his mother's face.

"Impossible," Narcissa whispered. "You're handsome. Intelligent. High marks in all of your classes-"

"And a Death Eater," he shot back. "Former or not, the scars don't lie. What woman in their right mind would have wanted to be associated with me? I lied to keep you from worrying, the way you always do. The truth is...I hadn't been on date since I graduated until Astoria came along."

It surprised him to see his mother speechless; but then again, it surprised him how forthcoming he'd just been. Perhaps Hermione had a bit to do with that...what an attractive tart.

"Astoria was the only one who even looked at me. And for a long time, I thought that was enough. And I never knew that my life was missing something until it was. And I couldn't tell you what that was, because I hadn't the faintest clue myself. But Hermione," he ignored the way his mother scoffed lightly at her name, "stirred something in me Astoria never could."

"Draco, please. I don't want to hear what's been stirring in your-"

"Merlin's beard, Mother! Inspiration! That's what's been stirred! For Morgana's sake, go read a trashy romance novel and get your head out of the gutter!"

"That sounds counterproductive!"

They stared at each other for a good, long moment before breaking out into laughter. So much laughter, in fact, that when Narcissa's secretary came in to check on them, she immediately became frazzled and backed out of the doorway.

It took Draco a moment or so to compose his thoughts as he came down from his laugh-induced high. Really, when was the last time they'd laughed together like this?

"So," his mother said. "Inspiration?"

Draco nodded firmly. "She believes in me - even when I don't believe in myself. Isn't that something worth a damn in this world anymore? Or has it all been packed with expectations and perceptions?"

"It sounds as if…" Narcissa strummed her fingers on the edge of her desk, pensive. "Hmm."

"Is that a good hmm? Or a bad hmm?"

"That's a hmm, and that's all the explanation you'll get from me." She reached into a drawer in her desk and brought forth what Draco recognized quickly as a Quick Quotes Quill. With a snap of her fingers, the quill and parchment flew into the air, ready for service. "My son, do you honestly think you have your head on straight?"

"Really?  _You're_  going to ask  _me_  that after buying out an entire dance studio just to hurt the people I care about?"

"Don't pretend you're not every bit as Slytherin as I am," his mother countered. "And if the opportunity arose, in my shoes, you would have done the same thing."

He opened his mouth to protest, but after further thought, he deliberated his mother wasn't entirely off. "My head is on as straight as it will go."

"Then what would you have me do?"

It couldn't be that easy; Draco knew that. Still, entertaining the devil was better than pretending he wasn't in the room. "Give the Weasleys their patents back. And return the deed to the dance studio."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because…" The words tasted awful on his tongue, so much that he nearly grimaced. "It's the right thing to do."

Even his mother looked shocked at that one.

"Look, they're going to get their business back on their feet, with or without you." Draco tried to reason with her. "They've already produced several-"  _dangerous,_ "products without the patent industry. You'd be naive to lose their revenue because you're too stubborn to see reason."

"Someone's talking like a businessman," his mother replied, amused. "Very well." The quill began to take off on the page, scribbling away. "If you're so sure, then perhaps you would concede to a wager?"

Skeptically, Draco peered over at the floating parchment. "...What sort of wager?"

The quill paused for half a second before continuing on. His mother found her way back to a smile again, even more dangerous than the last time. "If the Weasleys can manage to meet their quota for projected sales at the end of the month, I'll, as you say, 'listen to reason' and adhere to your demands."

Draco raised a curious, skeptical eyebrow. "I know you. There's always a catch."

"No catch. But - should your little business venture with the Weasleys prove to be a disaster... _you_  adhere to  _my_  demands."

"Which are…?"

"The Weasleys will close up their shop, and you come back. To me. To the company. You will work under my supervision, and you will ask Astoria back for her hand in marriage."

Draco snorted loudly, folding his arms over his chest. "Yeah, like that is going to happen."

"Of course, I could just buy the Weasley's building out from under them today." Narcissa batted her eyelashes. "The landlord is coming by for tea this evening. It's up to you, dear."

"You're bluffing," he countered.

She didn't budge. "Try me."

So this was it. She'd planned everything out from the beginning, spinning her web to ensure Draco would be caught in the strands. This was the true nature of a Black. He wanted to find a loophole like the Slytherin he was, but she'd covered every inch of the details. He truly felt like a fly trapped, his wings beating briskly against the webbing. But everyone knew the more a fly struggled, the more tangled up it would become.

Begrudgingly, Draco said, "When I win the wager, I want my seat back in the company."

"Yes, dear." Narcissa didn't bat an eyelash. "Anything else you'd like to add?"

Strictly out of spite, Draco added, "Dinner with Hermione's parents."

The quill scratched harshly across the page.

His mother raised both of her eyebrows. "Feeling bold, aren't we?"

"No." Draco pushed back his chair and stood. "I'm feeling owned. And, quite frankly, I'm fed up with it." He didn't slam the door on his way out, like he knew his Gryffindor counterpart would have. Instead, he left it open, threatening the secretary that if she closed it for his mother, he would find out where her husband worked and get him sacked immediately.

At least he had the satisfaction of knowing that his mother would need to close the damn door, though it was peanuts compared to thinking about her face the moment she would lose this outrageous wager.

 _Hell hath no fury like a Malfoy with a mission_.

* * *

**Would love to hear your thoughts!**   
**~A.**


	35. Work and Play

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 **A** **s always, this chapter wouldn't have been possible without an amazing alpha with fantastic ideas (LightofEvolution) and an extremely thoughtful beta (LondonsLegend) who beta'd this while packing for her trip! Have a fun one, girl!**

**I have no excuses why this chapter is so late except to say life happens. The past two weekends have been me running around working for the fish rescue I started. I'm tired, but I'm satisfied.**

**Formatting is going to be a little different this time (no stage direction. Kinda take it as...this is all happening back to back on stage) XD**

* * *

**Chapter 35: Work and Play**

* * *

**When the night has come**

**And the land is dark**

**And the moon is the only light we see**

**No I won't be afraid**

**No I won't be afraid**

**Just as long as you stand, stand by me"**

_"Stand By Me"_  
Performed by Florence + The Machine  
Originally by  
Ben E. King

* * *

 _Where_  is that woman's logic?!" Hermione seethed, kicking up dirt at the edge of Molly Weasley's garden, hands thrown up into the air and expression frightening. She was doing everything she could to keep herself from uprooting Molly's rutabagas in a fit of frustration. Leaning on the edge of the fence, safely on the other side of it, were Ron, George, Draco, and Harry. Only Ginny dared venture into the garden to keep Hermione from destroying Molly's garden, patting her on the back every few moments as the reality of the situation sunk in.

"That's...that's a low blow," George commented, more sober than any of them could remember.

"I can't believe Malfoy's mum would stoop so far," muttered Harry.

"Really, Harry?" Ron shot his friend a questionable look. "This is  _Malfoy's_ family we're talking about." He ignored the scathing glare from Draco as he continued, "Say we do lose - just say we do. Astoria would never go for it. She doesn't want to marry a sod like Malfoy anymore."

"I'm right here, Weasley…"

"I know." Ron smirked. "But you know it's true."

"Try telling that to my mother," grumbled Draco. "No, on second thought, don't. She'll just as well curse you as look at you. In her opinion, you and Hermione are nothing more than distractions to Astoria and I."

"Distractions?" Ron squinted, thinking it over. "It's the most flattering insult I've ever been called."

"You'd know," chided Draco. "You have a long list of insults to compare it to."

"You two bickering isn't helping!" Hermione snapped, turning on her heels to face them as she swatted Ginny's hand away for the umpteenth time. "There's really only one thing to do."

"Tuck our heads between our arse cheeks and kiss our careers goodbye?" George smirked woefully.

"Alright, I see where this is going," said Draco, rolling his eyes, and in his best Hermione-ish voice continued, " _We pick ourselves up by our bootstraps, pluck up, use that Gryffindor spirit and we win! All we have to do is believe in ourselves_! Or some nonsense like that - am I right?"

Hermione bit her lower lip to hold back an impressed laugh. "I was going to say we kick that woman's bum to kingdom come."

"I love it when you talk that way."

"Ugh. Get a room, you two," Harry rolled his eyes, earning him a heavy swat on the shoulder from Ginny. "Ow!"

"Draco's right - or I'm right. However you want to spin it - we can't give up now. We've faced  _Voldemort_ and won." Hermione ignored the way Ron flinched at the name. "We can do this. We just have to put our heads together."

"Urgh. Work." Ron huffed. "Is there some sort of montage spell out there that can speed up time so we don't have to go through it all?"

"Don't be silly, Ronald. Hard work is best." Feeling far from confident, Hermione squared her shoulders and nodded to the group. "Right. Let's get to it."

* * *

Monday came by with full force; Hermione, the moment she was off work, reserved herself to pass out flyers with Astoria and Daphne through the streets of Diagon while George worked on picking up a new spelled banner. Blaise took Draco and Ron away only an hour into flyer passing to do  _something,_  but what that something was, he wouldn't tell the rest.

"You'll just have to see," he said with a smirk, dragging Draco down the streets with an inquisitive stare and Ron, who seemed more than happy not to be passing out pieces of paper to strangers.

"A fat lot of help they are," Daphne grumbled, her stomach protruding as she feasted on an ice cream cone. Hermione couldn't look at ice cream the same way after her drunken night with Draco, so she focused on cornering anyone who walked out of the Quidditch shop on the corner. Astoria stood across the street, working her charm and looking as gorgeous as ever.

And, if Hermione were honest with herself, she would admit she was jealous. Oh, not of Astoria's looks, mind you. But her presence. She commanded the sidewalk; everyone stopped to talk to her. They were charmed by her disposition and kindness. Hermione wondered how she did it; it was difficult enough putting on a pleasant smile, let alone being sincere about it. Especially when everyone who walked past ignored her anyway.

"I recognize that look," said Daphne, plopping down on a nearby bench. She rubbed her stomach and smiled knowingly.

"What look?" asked Hermione.

"You're wondering if you can find a flaw within her. She's just so pleasant." Daphne shrugged, nibbling on her cone. "You'll burst your brain trying to figure out why people like her so much. I know I've given up."

"Obviously, she seems wonderful," Hermione said dully, foregoing her duties if only for a moment.

"You're wondering why her and Draco didn't work."

"Oh, no-" Hermione blanched. "I just-"

"It's alright." Daphne giggled. "I'll tell you." She patted the seat next to her. Hermione, despite knowing better, took the bait and gave up, sitting down beside her. Together, they watched Astoria chat up three handsome wizards as she pointed down the road to WWW. "Astoria, for all of her charm, is a complete dunderhead."

Could sisters really talk that way about one another? Hermione had no idea; she was an only child. "She seems intelligent to me."

"Intelligent and smart are two separate concepts of their own - I think you of all people can understand that." Daphne finished her ice cream cone and licked the tips of her fingers. "My sister is poised, practiced, and polite. But she lacks a tool needed to hold a Malfoy's interest: substance. All of her ideas have been ingrained in her since birth; she has no original thoughts. She's a follower - and a thumping good one. But she doesn't actually know anything."

"Sounds like Ron," Hermione mused quietly.

"Probably why those two get on so well," the other woman agreed. "They just  _are_. Living in the moment sounds great in theory; but to apply that to someone who wants more out of life, like Draco, or you...well, it's a recipe for disaster. I think Astoria was so busy trying to pretend to keep up with him, she forgot who she really is." Daphne tilted her head. "I like her this way. She's...relaxed. Not always wondering how to speak or if she's enough."

"I'm sure Draco didn't mean to make her feel inadequate," Hermione said, hearing the apology in her tone for something that was out of her control.

"Of course not. He'd have had to realize it was an act; and Astoria is a wonderful actress. No, I imagine she's been acting so long, she'd nearly convinced herself."

"What do your parents think? About Ron and Astoria?"

Daphne pursed her lips. "I'm sure they think this is a fad, like Draco's mother does. What they don't realize is they've all built up this beautiful bubble of ideals, but none of it is real. Friendship looks a lot like love when you turn it at the right angle."

"Narcissa Malfoy seems far too intelligent to see things at face value," Hermione muttered, contemplating. "So why does she think what Draco and I have isn't real?"

"Oh, I think she knows it is. But you've rocked a Malfoy's yacht, Hermione Granger. And she doesn't like the winds of change."

"Wish I could turn her ship overboard…What would you call that ship? Drastoria?"

"Aye," Daphne giggled, curling her finger to look like a hook. "That be a fitting name."

Hermione smiled. "I rather like you. Why is it we never got on in school?"

Together, they answered, "Draco."

* * *

Tuesday was a learning experience: mainly, why they couldn't put three men in the same room together and not expect something idiotic to happen.

"What in the…"

"This is…"

"What is it?"

Hermione, Ginny, Daphne, and Astoria stared down at the small boxes on each of their chairs.

"It looks like…"

"Oh, let's just all say what we're thinking," exclaimed Ginny. "This looks like a severed finger, Ron."

Ron Weasley nodded. "Yup."

"Care to give us context?" asked Hermione wearily. "Any reason we each have small boxes of fingers presented to us like engagement gifts?"

"It's the gift that's going to put us on the map!" exclaimed Ron.

"I was the brains behind the operation," said Blaise proudly, folding his arms over his chest.

"For the record, I only applied the proper spellwork to make sure this barbaric idea actually worked," Draco added, though he did look quite smug.

"Okay…" Astoria raised her eyebrows. "I'll bite. Why is there a finger in this box?"

"Ew…" Daphne was groaning.

"Picture it," Blaise said, plucking the finger from Daphne's body. "You've got an itch you can't scratch. You're in bed, in the middle of the night, and no matter what you do, you just can't scratch that itch." He pointed the tip of his wand to the fingernail, and the finger  _moved_. In the true spirit of the Adams Family, the finger crawled up Blaise's hand like an inchworm. "I present to you; the itch worm."

All of the ladies stared back at the men blankly.

"Hold your applause," Draco sneered dryly.

"Why aren't you ooh'ing and ahh'ing?" asked Ron. "This idea is pure gold!"

"Really, Ron?" Hermione crossed her arms. "And why can't people just use a back scratcher?"

"We've thought of that," Blaise smirked. "A back scratcher doesn't feel like fingers, does it? This gives authenticity."

"Mmhmm," Ginny rolled her eyes. "And what happens when people put them in places they weren't meant for?"

"Huh?" Ron scratched his head.

"You know…" Ginny let her eyes trail down, down, down. It was then that it clicked in the mens' heads.

"Oh!"

"We didn't think about…" Blaise gasped.

Draco stood perfectly still, his eyes wider than tea cups.

"And what if one got stuck?" Hermione added, enjoying the way all of the men blushed. "Are you prepared to get howlers from customers who lost them in in their posteriors?"

Blaise immediately removed the finger from his arm and set it back inside Daphne's box and said, "We never speak of this again."

"Except at Christmas," said Daphne, grinning.

"And Easter," Hermione chimed in.

"And every time we go out drinking," Ginny cackled, pocketing her box inside of her purse. "Thanks, boys. This has been great! I've got to tell Harry about this!"

"Gin! Wait!" Ron choked on his own saliva, but it was too late - Ginny was out the door, quicker than lightning, the sound of her laughter echoing in the hall.

* * *

"Grangerrrr...when are you going to be done?" Draco groaned, lying lengthways on the sofa with his head in Hermione's lap as she checked over the budget for WWW. The clock above their heads read a quarter past midnight, but Hermione barely noticed. She was so enthralled in her work, it took Draco taking his hand and spreading it across the figures on the coffee table to catch her interest again.

"Hmm?" she blinked, looking down at him. "Draco, I'm working."

"And I'm bored," he said back. "You said you'd be done an hour ago."

"I want to make sure the numbers are right."

"It's you. Of course they are." In a dramatic show, he rolled out of her lap and onto the floor, flailing and groaning as he landed at her feet. "I'm so bored, I'm withering to dust."

"Does that mean I get to sweep you under the rug?"

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "If it means you join me."

"Fat chance." But he grabbed her by her foot and poised his hand.

"If you don't get down here, I'll do it."

"Are you seriously threatening to  _tickle_  me right now?"

"Oh no, Granger. I'm not threatening. I'm promising."

"For the sake of  _not_  kicking you in the nose...fine." Hermione rolled her eyes and jerked her foot out of his hand before awkwardly finding her way to the floor beside him and laying down flat on her back, just like him. The rug below them was thin and rough, but neither of them seemed to care - Draco especially, who beamed in triumph that he'd forced her to concede to his demands. He slid his arm under her neck and acted as a pillow while simultaneously rubbing his fingers up and down her arm.

"This is nice," he said.

"The floor?"

"No. The silence. Just listen." He closed his eyes, which prompted her to as well. Together, they listened to the hum of the refrigerator and the air conditioner unit as it kicked on. "Isn't it peaceful? No Weasleys. No scribbling of your pen to paper."

"Hmm…" Hermione let herself fall into the gentle lull from the sound of his breathing. She stole a peek at him through slits to find him  _smiling._  Not smirking. Not glaring. Not even brooding. Just...smiling. "This  _is_ nice," she agreed.

"There's only one thing that could make it better."

"What's that?"

"You moaning my name."

Silence.

And then, "I'm sure I could pencil it in. But tonight…" She snuggled into his side. "Tonight, I want silence."

Draco chuckled. "Silence sounds good."

* * *

Hermione awoke with a start, having just experienced possibly one of the most insane dreams she'd ever cooked up; Draco had been playing bagpipes, George was eating spaghetti with a spoon, and Astoria had somehow convinced Ron to merge with her like some Mighty Morphin Power Ranger to create a giant robot that advertised the words 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' along the stone walls of Hogwarts.

Needless to say, when she blinked and took a few deep breaths, Hermione was more than relieved - that was, until she took in the sight of George Weasley attempting to slick his hair back, following the careful directions of Draco.

"-need to give it a light wave with the wand, so it stays in place," Draco was explaining, a large smirk plastered across his face.

Quickly, she popped up and pointed a finger at the pair. "No!"

"No?" they asked in unison, exchanging curious glances at one another.

"No. That hair dies in the nineties, boys. I refuse to let it anywhere near this grand re-opening."

"How grand can it be if we don't look our dapperest?" Draco shot back like a child on the verge of pouting.

"Is that a real word?" George pondered, rubbing his chin while repeating back, "Dapperest. Sounds like you're about to diaper something."

"It's a word - but a horrible one to describe that monstrosity of a 'style'," replied Hermione, giving a light stretch and sitting up on the sofa in George's office. Spotting Draco's face contort into disgust, she added, "No, Draco. It didn't look good then. And it doesn't now. Sorry to burst your bubble."

Three rapps on the door later, Ron Weasley appeared in the doorway wearing something out of Hermione's nightmares - and she'd had a few of those this week. His dressrobes hung baggy on his body, as if he'd borrowed them straight out of Hagrid's wardrobe. He'd cut himself shaving, so he wore two small bits of tissue paper on his chin, and his shoes...oh, his shoes were brown, ugly things that didn't match his robes in the slightest.

"Everyone ready for opening day?" he asked, chipper as a bird in the morning light. It took everything within Hermione not to destroy his ego with a reply, but luckily, she didn't have to. Draco did it for the both of them.

"Your bachelor status is ungodly apparent this morning, Weasley."

"Huh?" Ron's face scrunched in confusion.

"No witch on this planet would allow you out in that monstrosity you call an outfit. I take it Astoria didn't stay the night?"

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

Draco was just about to answer when someone else stepped inside the office - a beautiful someone with ringlets falling down her back, the prettiest of camisole/skirt combinations, and two floating outfits on hooks trailing behind her. The outfits nearly smacked into her when she stopped suddenly, taking in Ron's attire.

"Oh, Merlin's globes." Astoria's jaw dropped. "What in the seven hells is going on in here?" She glanced at Hermione.

"Don't look at me." Hermione shook her head. "I fell asleep."

"Well, it's a good thing I came prepared." With a swish of her wand, the floating outfits guided to the center of the room. One was a tailored pair of dress pants, button down shirt, and silky-crimson tie. Not too much to be mistaken for wedding attire, but formal enough to venture this was the owner of an establishment. The other outfit was similar to Astoria's, but with a purple tint to it instead of gray. "I might be not be a help in marketing or development, but fashion I know." One outfit floated toward Ron, and the other to Hermione. With a wink, Astoria said to her, "I figured you would be too busy to think about what you would wear. So I altered up a little something."

"That's extremely kind of you," Hermione smiled, though she was a bit embarrassed to admit to herself that Astoria had been right; she hadn't thought a thing about her clothing. It disappointed her, because she'd been ready to jump down Ronald's throat over his outfit moments ago. Sheepishly, she plucked the outfit out of the air. "Thanks."

"Not a problem." Astoria grinned, turning to Ron. Her smile dropped. "This, on the other hand…"

As Hermione shuffled out of the room to get ready, she sensed the presence of someone following and wasn't at all surprised to find Draco on her heels as she stepped inside the tiny community bathroom.

"Yes?" she asked as he closed the door behind them. She was shocked when he scooped her up, making her drop the outfit to the floor, and pushed his lips onto hers. The moment softened, and Hermione found herself weaving her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer until they both stumbled, smacking her up against the sink.  _Ow_ , she thought, but she didn't stop their kissing.

The pads of Draco's fingers dragged down her sides to her hips, where he slipped his fingertips to the zipper of her jeans and popped the button open after two unsuccessful tries.

"Can I help you?" she asked teasingly between touches of their tongues.

" _I'm_  helping  _you_ ," he countered with a chuckle, already hooking his thumbs through her belt loops and shimmying her jeans down her hips. His lips moved down along her jawline, peppering her with nibbles and licks.

"Is that what this is?" she quipped, nearly laughing. Her jeans were now at her ankles, and Draco's teeth grazed along her collarbone. "This has nothing to do with you relieving stress before the big opening?"

A slight pause, and then Draco went back to nibbling, this time on her shoulder, peeling her tank top strap to the side. "I never said I wouldn't benefit from it." His left hand smoothed up her exposed thigh, and his thumb brushed along her knickers, just above her clit.

"Should we talk about it?"

"Talk, talk, talk…" Draco sighed, bizarrely serious. He inhaled the scent of her skin along her throat and let his hand wander lazily down to cup her most intimately between her thighs. "That's all we've been doing the past few days."

It was difficult to concentrate, but this was Hermione Granger, and she pushed through, despite the immediate flare of hormones making her blood race. "We haven't talked about your mother's wager; how it's making you feel."

With a groan, Draco leaned his cheek against her shoulder, his voice smouldering and broodish. "Hermione, talking about my mother is the opposite of what I want to be doing."

"Well, what you  _want_  to be doing, and what you  _should_ be-" She cut herself off when his middle finger flicked delicately along her clit through her undergarments, making her whimper in elated frustration.

"I said I don't want to talk right now," he whispered, lowering himself to his knees on the floor in front of her. Hermione's hands instinctively rested on the edge of the sink behind her, eyes closing in anticipation. With a determined jerk, Draco slipped Hermione's underwear down to meet her jeans around her ankles. "Understood?" His breath ghosted along her hip.

"Mmh...mhmm…" Nodding, Hermione allowed him to slip one of her ankles out of her jeans so that he could spread her legs wider, and in turn he dipped his head forward and trailed his warm, silky tongue up her slit.

Hermione's legs nearly buckled. Her fingers dug into the porcelain sink, her nails scraping unfavorably. But she didn't dare release her grip, otherwise she would topple over completely at the feel of Draco's tongue lapping against her slowly, deliberately. Her shoeless toes curled as tension curled up her spine into her shoulders. The sounds of his mouth and tongue exploring her - the small smacks and hums of enjoyment - made her blush and close her eyes.

Her clit pulsed against the tip of his tongue as he flicked it before taking the entire bud in his mouth like a treat. His tongue continued its exploration while his hands grabbed at her hips, steadying her as her legs began to shake.

Of all the things to be doing to prepare for the re-opening of WWW, this hadn't been on Hermione's to do list. As it turned out, it was the one thing she was glad she hadn't planned for. Spontaneous moments like this with Draco made what they had that much more exhilarating.

Her hips jerked as he suckled her clit in just the right way. Draco chuckled against her, his hot breath flaring her skin in heat and excitement. He kissed against her mons, and then each thigh, allowing the cold air to rock Hermione's senses in the one place she  _needed_ him. There was no 'want' now. The craving she had for him to continue went far beyond 'want.'

"Draco…" she sighed out, nibbling at her lower lip. "Tease."

"I'm a tease, am I?" he responded, snaking his way up her body with his tongue until he was on his feet again, a hand on each hip, his nose brushing against her ear. The feral way in which he sighed, so torn and broken, left Hermione's fingers numb from gripping the sink. It was sexy feeling his slacks against her bare thighs, his adoration of her apparent as it pushed against his zipper - the same zipper that was icy and rested against her mons venus. "You're the tease, walking around in these 'jeans'."

Hermione felt a small smirk crawl up her lips. "Draco Malfoy - do you have a jeans fetish?"

"How would I know? Most witches I know don't wear them." He released a carefree laugh as he drew his face back up to hers and looked her straight in the eyes. "In fact, you're not like any witch I've ever known."

Their bodies begged for contact, but Hermione recognized the undertones in his words. He was legitimate. "Thank you?" she replied awkwardly, blushing an even darker shade of pink. If this had been any other time, she would have facepalmed herself. 'Thank you'? Really? That's what she could offer up?

"I mean it," he said, as if she hadn't just made a fool of herself. "I'm not giving you up, Granger. I don't care what kind of bet I have with my mother - this," he kissed her then, passionate and soft all at once. When he pulled away, he continued, "This is what I want."

Hermione grew thankful for her curly hair - it prevented him from seeing the way her ears burned from the rush of blood to them. "Are you sure?" When his eyebrows drew together and lips set in a thin line, she added hastily, "It's not that I don't believe that you believe it. But what if you wake up and realize I'm just something new and interesting in your world, and you realize I'm not what you-"

He shut her up with a kiss. "Have a little more faith in me than that, Hermione." His eyes trailed along her face, down her nose, lips, chin, and back up to her eyes. "Do you think I would put myself through this - through all of this, just for a joke shop?" He brushed the tip of his nose against hers.

"You have a good heart," she replied, closing her eyes and letting herself feel, in the moment. The heat radiating off his person was enough to make her desperate.

"What heart?" he countered cynically, tensing against her when Hermione released one hand from the sink to slip over his slacks-confined cock.

"You have to have a heart to get this working," she said coyly, prying her eyes open to find his shut, eyebrows drawn together and lips slightly parted. She brushed her palm up and down his length, smiling at the way his tongue darted out along his upper lip.

"Believe me, most men don't need a heart for that," he hissed out. He realized his mistake in words, because his eyes found their way open, and he said, "It's...really hard to think when you're…"

"Apology accepted," she countered, smirking. "So, are you admitting that you have one then?"

"A hard-on?" he teased.

"A  _heart_."

_Knock, knock! Knock, knock, knock!_

"Doors open in ten minutes, you two!" It was George, as chipper as ever. "And bathroom best not reek of fun, if you get my meaning! This is a family establishment!"

Needless to say, the mood was ruined - at least, it was for Hermione. Despite Draco's protests, she insisted they stop before they get started, promising they would pick it back up later. Though, she did let him help her into her clothes, which was to say he might have bent her over the counter and smacked her arse a few times while she attempted to get dressed.

Giggling, she left the bathroom first, a healthy dust of red along her cheeks (both sets, to be precise) and a can-do attitude in her soul.

But oh, how that was about to change.

* * *

 **Next chapter promises to be action packed!**  
**Let me know what you think!**  
**A.**


	36. When the Smoke Clears

**Some shotouts are in order: First off, LightofEvolution deserves many thanks for alpha'ing this chapter for me. She is the queen of tossing ideas back and forth, and without her help, this chapter would be bleh. Secondly, let me take the time to thank Sam Wallflower, who always keeps me on my toes with my Spanish and is patient with me, even when I ask her all of the questions! And of course, beta love to the lovely LondonsLegend, who never stops encouraging me. Thanks to her, I talked to my doctor about my anxiety.**

**Small side note: I -am- working on chapter updates. The last two weeks have been full of doctor visits (not because of my anxiety, but something to do with my stomach that has been giving me chronic pain and nausea.) So updates WILL be around, but depending on what my results are, I might be slower on them. Hopefully not! I hope there's nothing super wrong and is easily fixable. And because I'm uber transparent, I'll keep y'all updated on the progress.**

**Love you all so much!**

**~A.**

* * *

**"I think there will be more smiles when the smoke clears."**   
**~Shaun Alexander**

* * *

**Chapter 36: When The Smoke Clears**

* * *

**Center Stage: The crew**   
**Setting: Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes**

* * *

The orange glow of the flames flickered like candlelight, basking the streets of Diagon Alley in its hues. As a narrator, I find it prudent to note that the building on fire that fateful evening was not Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, thank the gods. It actually was Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour lit up like an autumn bonfire just north of WWW. So now that your minds are at ease, I also find it imperative to remind you that this night was  _not_ in Draco or Hermione's favor.

Since a fire had broken out, the buildings left and right of the ice cream shop, including Hermione's favorite second hand bookshop, unfortunately were privy to the fire's unwanted advances. By the time the Auror department from the Ministry had arrived, there was little to be done in salvaging the buildings; they could only rescue and cast  _aguiamenti_ charms on the building's remains.

Flakes of ash rained down on the cobblestone steps at Draco's feet, dirtying his dragonhide shoes. Those bystanders that hadn't already fled or been floo'd to St. Mungo's were standing on the sidewalk, watching and crying and gaping like fools.

"Blimey," said George, standing next to him with his hands shoved into his pockets. "It's brighter than when Fred and I lit ol' Umbridge up at Hogwarts."

"It's not...fiendfyre, is it?" squeaked Ron.

"Of course not, Ronald," said Hermione. "They're putting it out with water - does that sound like fiendfyre to you?"

"No, 'suppose not…"

"Should we help?" asked Astoria, looking to the others.

"We'd only be in their way," said Blaise, who had showed up only an hour before. "Look's like Potter's got it." He hugged Daphne around the waist, drawing her closer to him.

From a ways off, Harry Potter could be seen holding back the press - it's what the Auror Department did best with him lately, throwing him to the wolves because of his fame. He was trying to navigate through their bombardment of questions as he stalled them, waiting for the Minister to arrive.

Draco knew he should say something - anything - but the words wouldn't come. No matter how hard he tried to open his mouth to speak, his thoughts fell short on his lips. How could he articulate the deep amount of shit they were all now in thanks to the damned fire forcing everyone's attention away from their opening night? Sure, sure, the people were a priority, but really, the whole thing was a major inconvenience.

"There's Kingsley," said Hermione, nudging him in the ribs and pointing as the swarm of press distilled away from Harry. Potter, his shoulders slumping in relief, jogged his way down the sidewalk until he made it to the group.

"Is everyone alright?" he asked.

"No one's injured, if that's what you mean," said Blaise. "But we're the furthest from alright."

"Potter!" another Auror called out. "Take this'n with ya' for questionin'! She was workin' in the shop whennit happened!"

Covered in soot from head to toe, the tips of her curls singed, was none other than their former classmate, Lavender Brown. Draco didn't wonder why someone like Brown worked in an ice cream shop - werewolves were hardly given respect. Remedial jobs were what she had to look forward to after Hogwarts, and the stress showed on her aged face. Of course, Draco had never found her pretty to begin with, but he could tell life had taken a toll on Brown, who wore thick claw scars down her cheek and teeth marks against her throat.

Lavender's eyes searched the group, acknowledging their familiarity, but a full smile broke out when her eyes rested on Ron. "Oh good. You're alright!" She caught herself, glancing at the others. "All of you are. I'm so very glad."

"Come on, Lav," said Potter, wrapping a comforting arm around her and gesturing her inside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. "Let's all go in for now." One by one, everyone trailed inside behind them - everyone, that was, aside from Draco and Hermione.

"Are you alright?" she asked him, squeezing his hand lightly.

"Would it be selfish of me if I was more upset at the fact that this messed with opening night over the fact that-" he waved his hand wildly at the still smoking buildings, "-this happened?"

"We've still time-" she tried, but she was cut off.

"That's just it, Hermione. We  _don't_." Draco caught himself growling like a feral animal under his breath."The deal was we make quota of our projected sales for the  _end of the month_. Which means, if we don't make our goal by Sunday, at the end of our opening weekend, the Weasleys lose this shop, Diggle loses his studio, and I…" He ran his fingers through his hair, exasperated.

"...You what?" she asked carefully.

Draco inhaled through his nose and exhaled out his mouth, trying to calm himself. No, he had no intentions of going back to Astoria. But if he failed this,  _he'd lose Hermione_. How in the world would she be able to stay with a man who brought misfortune on everyone she held dear? She might not at first, but she'd grow to resent him. He couldn't bear the thought. "...Nothing. It's nothing," he lied.

"Let's go inside," Hermione told him, tugging him gently by the wrist. He caved to her demands and followed her, taking in the site of a conjured table as an extension of the front counter, each of their companions seated at a stool beside it. Ron sat beside Lavender, who could be seen gripping his hand like a madwoman and blinking her eyelashes far too often to be natural.

"Uh, Lavender," said Potter, sitting just the other side of her with a notepad at the ready. "Can you tell me, in your own words, what happened?"

Lavender dabbed her eyes, stained with real tears, and scooted just a bit closer to Weasley. Draco scanned the room, finding Astoria exiting the loo and stopping mid stride when she spotted Ron's hand in Lavender's. Weasley, to his credit, looked flustered and confused, stealing a glance at Hermione or Potter every moment or so as if to ask for help. It was obvious Potter didn't want to upset Lavender further, or perhaps he just didn't care, and did not step in. Hermione rolled her eyes but said not a word, which in fact said a whole bunch of words, just unspoken. To sum it up:  _Ron Weasley, you are, in fact, the largest idiot I've ever met. I can't believe you would let yourself wind up in a situation like this, you dolt._  Of course, in Draco's mind, he was paraphrasing.

In reality, Hermione asked, "Can I get you some hot cocoa, Lav?"

"That would be lovely. Thank you."

"As if it isn't already hot enough  _out there_ ," scoffed Blaise indignantly.

The moment Hermione's touch left Draco's skin, he felt alone and helpless. Standing there, looking at all of his - well, some of his friends and some of his alliances - it felt as if he'd let them all down, even though he hadn't been the one to ruin their night.

Once Hermione came back with the cocoa from the break room, Lavender took a few hearty sips and sniffled into her cup. "It was awful, Harry. Just awful. I'd only just arrived on shift maybe twenty, thirty minutes before."

Draco couldn't take it. He stepped back and strolled over to the window, peering out as he recalled the moment everything went wrong.

* * *

_"George, do we have any more of that bubbling talcum powder?" Hermione called out from the stairs leading to the second floor._

_"The one that turns skin green? Or polka-dotted?"_

_"Green!"_

_"You're in luck!" George Weasley beamed, tossing a tiny bag from underneath the counter. "Only two left!"_

_"Two?" Draco popped his head out from around an aisle of gag gifts. "We had two hundred in stock!"_

_"I know! They're selling like Occamy eggs to a silversmith!"_

_"Wish we could say the same about these babble bees," Astoria sighed, leaning against the doorway as she waved people in. "Seriously, these little jibbering contraptions are giving me a migraine." She pointed to the barrel behind her, where tiny wooden toys in the shapes of bees muttered out one of ten pre-recorded phrases and insults. It had been Hermione's idea, hoping to shed light on the dwindling bee population in muggle and wizard communities alike, but really, they were more annoying than anything._

_And it was just as Draco was about to open his mouth to agree with Astoria that they heard the canon-like BOOM echo from outside. Seconds later, a wind swept down the streets, vibrating the windows, shelves, and every person inside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. A scream let out from a child next to Draco, and everyone within the establishment stood stark still._

_"Fire...fire! There's a fire!" Astoria gasped, peeking her head out the door, fingers gripping into the wooden frame._

_"An attack?"_   
_"Is it a dark wizard?"_   
_"What's going on?"_

_The crowd within WWW shoved past Astoria, nearly knocking her down in an attempt to get a good look outside. Draco immediately found his way to Hermione, who already had her wand drawn._

_Neither of them had a clue what the evening would bring, but they certainly hadn't anticipated this. Soon, there wasn't a single customer left in the store._

* * *

"Can you tell me anything you remember before the explosion?" asked Harry, jotting down notes on his pad. "Anything at all?"

"It's all a blur, really," said Lavender, eyeing Astoria as she took a seat next to Ron. The crying witch kept Ron's hand in hers, muttering softly, "All I can remember is some man in a cape asking for raisins as a topping. Really, who likes  _raisins_  as a topping?"

"Wait…" Draco perked his head up. "Say that again."

"Raisins as a topping?"

"No, not that," he snapped. "The cape. Tell us about the cape."

"Oh." Lavender thought about it. "Showy, flowy, sort of like a muggle magician's. Completely impractical, and did  _not_  go well with the rest of his ensemble."

"Anything else about him?" asked Hermione, suddenly catching on.

"He had an accent, now that I think about it. And he kept calling me  _querida mía_ …"

"Did he have a mustache?"

"Yeah! A swirly one with lots of wax to keep it curled. Again, didn't go with the outfit."

"Sounds like someone we know," commented Astoria, looking to Draco and Hermione while simultaneously reaching for Ron's other hand. Now, the buffoon had one woman's hand in each of his hands and a serendipitous smile on his face. Lavender shot Astoria a disapproving glare, jerking Ron's hand a little closer to her.

"Señor Diggle," Hermione and Draco said in unison.

"Was he there when the explosion happened?" asked Harry, in full Auror mode now.

"Yes. Crying into his rum raisin with extra raisins," Lavender answered.

"It can't be a coincidence," said Hermione.

Draco didn't wait to assess his thoughts. He had a hunch, and he wasn't sure where exactly it was leading him except toward the door. He swung it open, the smell of smoke and burnt wood filling his nostrils. Then he stepped outside and began walking toward the crowd of onlookers, his eyes peeled for a familiar, annoying individual.

"Pardon," he said not-too-kindly to anyone he needed to push past, checking out face after face. It was discouraging when he didn't find Diggle right off, but a second hunch led him past the aurors, crowd, and reporters into the alleyway adjacent to the burned down establishments. There, hiding behind a trash can and sniffling his nose into a handkerchief, was none other than Señor Diggle. His clothing was singed from head to shoe - or half a shoe, really - and his cape looked more like a tattered drape over his shoulders. The left side of his mustache was completely burned off.

When his eyes caught Draco's, he immediately jumped up on his feet, clearing his throat and trying to pretend as if he wasn't sobbing away moments ago.

"Ahh, Señor Malfoy," Diggle cleared his throat. "Eh,  _espantoso_ what happened out there…"

Draco rested his hand idly on his wand holster.

Diggle turned his head toward the end of the alleyway. Draco stepped in front of his line of vision and narrowed his eyes. It was then that he noticed the bottle of firewhiskey in Diggle's hand, clutched as if it were a vital extension of his arm. " _Por favor_ ," Diggle whispered, "just leave me be."

"Sure. After you answer some of my questions." Not-so-nicely, Draco grabbed Diggle by the scruff of his robes and yanked him forward, and then he pushed him toward the alleyway exit. "To the joke shop. You try to make a run for it, and I'll tap dance over your immobilized body."

" _Como si tú fueras capaz de bailar claqué_ ," Diggle scoffed under his breath. He didn't make a scene as they pushed their way through the crowd and made their way to the joke shop - but a scene was already brewing inside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes when Draco returned. From outside, he could hear the shout of a woman.

" _That's it! I've had it!_ "

" _Tienes que estar bromeando_ ," said Diggle, turning to Draco. "In  _there_? You want me to go inside  _there_?"

"If I have to, so do you," Draco replied with a sardonic smirk slathered on his face. He pushed the door open and shoved Diggle just in time to witness Astoria prying Ron out of his chair and, even more forcefully, his hand from Lavender's.

Ron Weasley clamoured to his feet - it was the only way the lug knew how to move, really - and proceeded to stare, confused, at the witch. "Er...Astoria?"

"Ron, out of the way. This doesn't concern you," she said, shoving him to the side and wagging a finger in Lavender Brown's face. "Have you no shame? Must you really try to woo your ex back in the middle of an investigation?"

The rest of the group sat stark still, quietly exchanging awkward glances, while Lavender raised both of her eyebrows and blew into her tissue theatrically. "I haven't a clue," she sniffled painfully loud, "what you're rambling on about."

"No? Well, then you won't mind if I do this!"

To everyone's astonishment, Weasley included, Astoria turned on her heel, grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, pushed him back into the table until he sprawled halfway across it (directly next to Lavender), climbed on top of him, and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

Weasley's eyes went wide for only a split moment before he melted into the kiss like a school witch, the tips of his ears turning a vibrant shade of crimson. Lavender's mouth hung open, reminding Draco of a broken hinge. Daphne sighed, unamused. Blaise made a vomiting sound. Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry sat perfectly still, as if he could erase the whole entire thing from his memory if he simply didn't move. George Weasley started a slow clap; no one joined in.

When Astoria finally broke away and smirked in triumph, Lavender gave a small squeak.

"Wow," Ron gasped, his eyes starry. "I could go for a few more of those."

Draco resisted the urge to follow Blaise's example of fake vomiting, instead deciding that, if he was going to witness a situation so ridiculous as this one, he might as well support the Slytherin in the room, even if she acted like a bloody Gryffindor. "Well, Weasley, I dare say she was never that passionate about me." He didn't miss the small blush across Astoria's cheeks. "Consider yourself claimed." He then smirked toward Hermione, adding, "And if you ever, you know, felt the need to claim me that way…?"

"I'll be sure to bring my branding iron," she quipped back with a wry smile as Ron pried himself off the table.

And that's when Draco Malfoy decided: best not to push it. But someone he  _could_ push was Diggle, and so he did - right into the center of the room.

"Alright, Diggle. We have a few questions for you."

"Er, Malfoy," began Potter, his face scrunched, "you can't just interrogate whomever you like whenever you like."

"Why the Hell not?"

"For one, you're not an Auror…?"

"Are you insinuating Aurors interrogate anyone whenever they like?" Draco countered.

"No. Of course not. It's against the law."

"Oh, well good thing I'm not an Auror." Draco shoved Diggle into a chair, where the elder wizard released a string of explicits in Spanglish. "Now speak, Señor Fancy-Feet."

"¡I am not  _un perro_! I am a free wizard!"

"A free wizard who just so happens to be in Diagon Alley on our opening night, and just so happens to be swigging down a bottle of whiskey right after the fire, away from everyone, in a deserted alleyway? Yeah, I'm not buying it." He looked to Lavender. "Is this him?"

"U-Um…" Lavender, obviously still in shock from Ron and Astoria. "Who?"

"Depressed Raisin man."

"Oh." She blinked, taking in Diggle's attire. "Bit more burnt than I recall, but...y-yeah."

"So tell us, Diggle. Why the Hell do I get the feeling you're to blame for this entire mess?"

Harry sighed audibly. "Malfoy, you can't just go around accusing people without cau-"

Suddenly, Diggle burst into a fit of tears, cradling his firewhiskey bottle as he brought it took his lips and took a sip. Then he produced a signed tissue from his breast pocket and sobbed into it. "N-No! I can't take it! ¡ _Mi culpa_ is too strong! He's right! Señor Malfoy is right!"

"Bet that's not something you're used to hearing, is it, Malfoy?" Ron smirked, earning a heated glare from Draco.

"Shut it, Weasley. The adults are talking." Slowly, Draco rounded Diggle and lowered his face into Diggle's personal bubble, purposefully contorting his face into one of pure loathing. "Explain.  _Now_. Did you try to blow us up? Is that what it was? Are you working with my mother?" Even he felt it a little hard to believe she would stoop so low...

"¿ _Qué_? No! Absolutely not!"

"But you've admitted to being at fault," said Hermione slowly.

"¡ _Sí! ¡Sí_!" Diggle sobbed.

"Maybe we start from the beginning," offered Harry, sliding Lavender's cup of cocoa over to Diggle. Lavender almost protested, but after one scathing expression from Astoria, she fell into a forlorned silence. "What brought you to Diagon?"

"What else? Ice cream," replied Diggle, pouring a hefty shot of alcohol into his mug before taking a sip of the lukewarm liquid. " _Comida reconfortante._.."

"Pardon?"

"Comfort food," the man explained, dabbing his kerchief with one hand and sipping whiskey-laced cocoa with the other. "I've been...depressed...ever since I sold  _el estudio_ to  _tu madre_." He looked directly at Draco as he spoke, apologetic in his tone. "I simply couldn't take it anymore." His face fell, crestfallen. " _El estudio..._ it reminded me too much of  _mi mujer_  - my wife.  _Pero mi hijo_ …"

"Yes, Greg wasn't too keen on you selling the studio, was he?" Draco sneered coldly. "Thanks for that. Naturally, I was blamed."

"It was so hard...so hard to see it.  _My mujer_...she always loved teaching. I just wanted to dance beside her...And now that she's gone...my son won't speak to me -  _él se niega_."

"Well, of course he won't!" exclaimed Hermione. "You took the only thing he had left of his mother!"

"I regret all of it!" said Diggle, crying into his mug, gulping down the spiked cocoa until the cup was empty. "But that witch - she said it was too late!"

"And the explosion?" asked Potter carefully. "...Can you explain that, please?"

" _Energía mágica_."

Harry, obviously not fluent in Spanish, turned to Hermione for help.

"Magical energy," she explained. "But...Señor Diggle...are you saying your magical energy created the explosion?"

"Like a spell?" blurted out Ron.

"No," Diggle shook his head. " _Una acumulación_."

"A build up," Hermione translated. "It's rare, but it isn't unheard of. Wizards or witches under a surreal amount of stress who don't release their magical impulses can harbor bursts of magical energy at once."

"Like an obscurus?" asked Harry, concerned.

"Similar, but far less dangerous. The problem usually resolves itself once the energy is released." Hermione stood up and walked over to Diggle, patting him on the shoulder. "There, there, Señor Diggle. We know you didn't mean to."

"Who cares if he meant to?" scoffed Draco. "The fact is, he  _did it_."

"Draco, he's obviously sorry!"

"Not as sorry as he's going to be." He pointed to Harry. "Go on, Potter. Arrest him."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's not that clear-cut, Malfoy. He'll have to be interviewed at the Ministry. - But...Señor Diggle, you  _will_  have to accompany me this evening. Stay here." Harry stood up and excused himself to inform Auror Roberds, his superior. When the door dinged shut, Draco huffed, crossing his arms much like a two-year-old who didn't get his way.

" _Lo siento_ ," Diggle whispered. "I  _am_ sorry. I never meant to...you have to understand -  _mi corazón…"_

Draco stopped him, because he  _did_ understand. As much as he wished he didn't know, memories of his father came flooding into his mind, and he cursed under his breath. He remembered locking himself away after his father's passing. He remembered feeling lost, helpless even. And above all else, he remembered rejecting his inheritance (namely, the company) all because he couldn't deal with the pain and loss. He'd bartered it off to his mother, and that's where this entire issue today stemmed from.

He slumped down in a chair across from Diggle, defeated. "So this is how it all ends...an accident."

"We still have time," said Hermione.

"All of this because you and I decided to learn how to dance a bloody tango!" He kicked the table stump. "If I had known how, none of us would be in this mess!" He realized the moment he said the words that they were forced and wrong. Draco saw the way they cut the room, especially Hermione. He was about to apologize, to grovel like a Slytherin had never groveled before, but then he saw the way her eyes lit up, and he paused. "Hermione?"

"That's it."

"What's it?"

"That's IT!" She pointed to her feet. "If you and I had known, none of this would have happened. If you could have spelled your shoes…"

George's head perked up. "That's brilliant." He smacked his hand down on the table. "Shoes that dance for you! No lessons required!"

Ron's eyes went wide. "Could be used as a tool or a practical joke!"

"A simple copying spell to the right dance steps…" George was already planning. "Different dances for different shoes."

"Different colors!" exclaimed Daphne.

"Stylish," nodded Blaise. "I have just the lineup in my apparel release for this. I can get them here by morning's light…"

And just like that, Draco saw the mood in the room lift.

"It'll be tight…" said Hermione, charging to the front desk and pulling out a notepad. "But if we all pitch in…"

They had a plan. A daring plan. But it was a plan, and it was worth the shot in the dark.

Draco smirked. "Let's begin."

* * *

**Would love to hear your thoughts!**


	37. A Four Letter Word

**Beta love to LondonsLegend. Alpha love to LightofEvolution. Any flames will be ignored. Hope y'all love the chapter!**   
**~A.**

* * *

**"If I were the rain. . . that binds together the Earth and the sky, whom in all eternity will never mingle. . . Would I be able to bind two hearts together?"**   
**~Tite Kubo**

* * *

**Chapter 37: A Four Letter Word**

* * *

**Center Stage: Draco and Hermione**   
**Setting: Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes**

* * *

"Hermione."

"Not now, Draco."

" _Hermione_."

"I said  _not_.  _Now_." Hermione sat with her legs crossed on George's office floor, placing incantations on shoe after shoe to transfigure themselves to any size foot. Draco would pass her a new box when she finished, hanging sideways off George's sagging, leather chair in an 'I don't care' sort of way, even though he obviously did. Everything about his aura screamed tense, from the crease in his brow to the way his feet kept tapping the air.

"Fine," he muttered,  _accio_ 'ing a new box and sliding it over her way as she levitated the old box onto a pile stacked clear to the ceiling. "So we're fighting now."

"I'm not fighting," Hermione said cooly, opening the new box of shoes. "I'm working. This would go a lot faster if you helped."

"Maybe I'd be more inclined to help if we  _talked_." From the corner of her eye, she spotted him making a grimace as if he'd just stuck an entire lemon wedge in his mouth. "Merlin help me. I want to  _talk_? About... _feelings_?" His face soured again. "Might as well put me out to pasture. I've lost all sense of familiarity."

"Stop being dramatic." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Dramatic?" Draco popped his head up, thinking it over. "A Malfoy is never dramatic."

"Oh, please. Your family could put on an entire production of  _Cats_ and no one would bat an eyelash. They'd just look and say, 'there goes the Malfoys, doing what the Malfoys do.'"

"I'm not even sure what you're talking about, but I'm sure I'm supposed to feel insulted, so I'm taking it that way."

"Good."

After a few moments of silence, Draco groaned audibly. "I shouldn't have said it! There! Are you happy?"

Hermione kept her head down in her work, refusing to meet his sure to be withering gaze. "Not in the slightest." It sparked a tiny glimmer of joy within her to see, out of the corner of her eye, him fidget in his chair so much that he nearly fell out of it. Eventually, he sat upright in it and strummed his fingers along the arm rests. - Okay, so Hermione was maybe taking this a little far. But that didn't mean he shouldn't squirm like the worm he was. What he said...about if he'd known how to dance in the first place...it struck a chord in her. And she wasn't the only one to have felt the chill. The entire room had fallen flat at his words.

A part of her (not the logical side, of course) wondered if he really did regret it all. She'd taken it for granted that they'd fallen into each other's laps - quite literally at times. But really, if they hadn't found each other again through the Tango, would they even have crossed paths at all? She'd built this idea in her head that, somehow, they were meant to find each other. But what if this all was a fluke?

Stealing a glance at Draco, who met her gaze with stern worry, she tucked her head down and hastily set back to work. She couldn't bear the thought of admitting  _she_ was the one being dramatic, but...well, it  _had_ hurt her.

There was a flash of light outside the office window, and then a resounding  _crack_ that had them both jumping to their feet, wands ready. When they realized it  _wasn't_ another explosion, but a thunderstorm rolling in, they laughed nervously, exchanging timid smiles.

"Just our luck," Hermione muttered, tiptoeing to the window. Small drops of rain already littered the pavement, growing stronger by the second.

"It'll let up before daybreak," Draco said calmly behind her, his voice closer than before.

"How can you be sure?"

"Call it a hunch - also, the Daily has a weather forecast." She felt his arms cautiously folding around her shoulders, pulling her back against him. Hermione let it happen; it was difficult to fight the want to be near him, even when she was cross.

Easing her back until they felt molded together, Draco released a sigh and rested his chin on her shoulder. "I get it. I can be a git."

"More than a git," Hermione replied as she watched the rain outside and tried to ignore the smell of his cologne. "Your chin is jabbing into my shoulder."

What was probably out of spite, Draco kept his chin rested there. "It's called a man's chin, Granger. It's attractive."

"It's stabbing me." She shrugged his jaw off of her, and he chuckled, kissing her cheek and holding her tightly.

"Diagon is nearly tolerable like this," he mused.

"Empty?"

"Quiet."

She smiled. "It's nearly too quiet."

"Too quiet? There's no such thing."

"Actually, that's not quite right. Have you ever heard of an anechoic chamber? It's designed to completely absorb reflections of either sound or electromagnetic waves."

" _Sounds_  like my kind of fortress," Draco quipped. And then…"Granger?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you go somewhere with me?"

Hermione turned her head just enough to catch his gaze. "Where?" Suddenly, she was spun around and grabbed by the hand. "Draco?"

He simply smirked over his shoulder, pulling her out of the office and past the snoring Ron in the hallway. On the selling floor, George was rearranging the shelves when he caught sight of the pair. "Where are you going?" he called out.

"Haven't a clue!" Hermione replied, nearly laughing at the absurdity of it all. Her eyes grew wide as Draco pushed open the front door. The rain was coming down in sheets now. "We're going  _outside_?"

"I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be daring," he laughed, yanking her out with him. Immediately, Hermione was drenched in thousands of tiny raindrops. They splattered across her skin, her face, soaking into her clothing. Draco's normally styled hair fell flat instantly, and he ran his fingers back through it with one hand, never letting go of her with the other. "Come on! Keep up!" He continued to usher her down the road, past the shops. He didn't stop until they were at the brick wall separating them from the muggle streets. The tip of his wand lit up, and he tapped the bricks until they moved, revealing the vacant fountain just a ways off.

"What are you-" Hermione began, but she cut herself off the moment he released her hand and jogged over, still soaked to the bone from the pouring rain, to the fountain.

"Here!" he shouted across the way at her. "This is it!"

"Is what?" she shouted back.

Draco didn't answer her. He simply stowed his wand away in the holster on his hip and extended a hand in her direction. Coyly, and feeling a tad childish, she approached him until she slipped her hand in his. He did the rest, pulling her to him so closely she could see the droplets of rain dripping off of his nose. Their only source of light was the street lamp on the other side of the fountain, which made the fountain water shimmer.

Hermione felt his arm wrap around her waist, and his other hand slipped into hers, setting them into a Tango stance.

His warmth radiated against her, adding much needed comfort against the harshness of the rain. His eyes, nearly glowing against the water's reflection, glistened endearingly back at her.

"This is where I knew."

"Knew what?"

She gasped as he took the lead, swaying them in time with the tempo of the rain. Hermione quickly fell in step, keeping up with him and laughing at the silliness of it all. Draco simply offered a cheesy grin and let his feet do the talking. Together, they moved like currents, pushing and pulling, swaying with each other before parting only to be drawn to one another again. Her clothes were soaked, her hair was a mop, and yet Hermione Granger was the happiest she'd ever been, dancing here with Draco in the rain.

After a quick turn, Draco brought her to him, chest to chest, for the umpteenth time that night. It was beginning to be a habit. Softly, he broke their form to swipe a wet curl away from her cheek. "This," he said, "is when I knew you meant something more to me."

"This is where you used Legilimency on me," she offered back.

"Before that," he said, rolling his eyes. "You're focusing on the wrong parts of that evening."

"I think that played a larger part of our evening - downplaying it would-"

"Hermione, I'm  _attempting_  to be romantic.  _Must_ you spoil it?"

Hermione giggled. "Only a little."

"Wonderful. We have a comedian, ladies and gents." He spun her and caught her mid turn. Now it was her back against his chest. "What I'm trying to say…" She could feel his heart slamming against his ribcage as his breath ghosted her cheek and his hands tightened around hers. "...is that I could never repay you for waking me up that night. The  _real_  me. The person I'd forgotten I was."

Now instead of a smile, Hermione wore a blush and a stunned expression. Draco couldn't see it, of course, but there was no doubt he'd known what sort of mood he'd set. Just how did one reply to something so entirely intimately passionate?

By stuttering, of course.

"I-I...that's...um...I…"

She could practically feel his eyes roll behind her. The sound of the rain drowned out the pounding heartbeat in her eardrums.

"What I'm trying to say, Hermione…" That's when she became aware of the way his arms trembled around her - the way his breath hitched ever so slightly. "...is that I'm an idiot for ever insinuating I could have gone on living without...without you there to kickstart this thing in my chest again...I mean...I  _love_ -"

The world slowed down to a halt the moment she clicked the pieces together. Was he really...he couldn't possibly…was she ready for such a large step?

She panicked. And she did what every panicked person in her situation would do - she stalled.

"-The rain?" she interrupted, turning in his arms to face him and forcing her most 'comfortable' smile. "Yes, it is pretty, isn't it?"

Even in the dim light of the street lamp, she could spot the redness on his cheeks. He looked pretty taken aback, but then he smoothed over his features with a facade, morphing into the cool and collected Malfoy she knew him to be. He brushed his thumb down her lower lip, parting it from the top one.

"It's beautiful," Draco said quietly. "The rain."

Hermione cleared her throat, stepping back and away from his grip. "We should get back to the shop."

She didn't make it two steps before Draco wrapped his fingers around her wrist, stilling her. "Really, Granger?"

"What?"

"Don't what me. You know perfectly well 'what'."

"I've never said it, alright?" she snapped, jerking her wrist out of his hand. "There. Are you happy?"

"You've...never said what? That you loved someone?" Draco stared blankly at her. "How is that even possible? You and Weasley were together, right? He asked you to  _marry_  him, for Merlin's sake!"

"Yes! I'm perfectly aware!" Hermione shot back, embarrassed. A long silence followed, and then eventually, she said, "Ron said it. Frequently. And I would always thank him-"

"- _Thank him_? Fucking Hell,  _I'm_  beginning to feel sorry for Weasley.  _Me._  Of all people!"

"I'm not exactly proud of myself! I just...I...that kind of love...it's  _intimate_. It isn't exactly logical-"

"Must everything be with you? Logical?"

"I'm not sure! Perhaps!" She threw her hands up in the air just as a crack of thunder rolled overhead. "I'm afraid!"

"Of  _what_? That you might love someone? That they might love you back? That two humans could be happy together?"

"All of it!" Hermione bit her lower lip as a tear slipped down her cheek. Not that he could see - it blended with the rain dripping down her face. "My parents said I love you. They said it, and they meant it. And now they're divorced! One lives in Australia, and the other in Wales! I can't seem to find the logic in that either!"

 _Crack_ went the lightning above their heads.

"Divorced?" Draco's brow creased. "You've never mentioned that before."

"Yes, well, it's never come up," she said, crossing her arms and hugging them around herself. "It happened back when Ron and I...right before he...and I just couldn't...not after seeing what love can do."

"I've been risking everything," Draco said, approaching her slowly, " _everything_ because my feelings for you have grown exponentially. Because, for lack of better words, I stopped seeing a future with Astoria and found a future with you. And now you're telling me you don't  _want_ to build a future with someone?"

"Of course I do!" Hermione fumed. "But saying it - out loud - it will jinx it, you know?"

"Tell me, Hermione. Where is the  _logic_ in that?" His eyes bored down on her, cutting like diamonds in the night. He turned away from her, heading for the Leaky Cauldron.

"Where are you going?" she shouted, jogging after him.

"To finish what I started. Unlike  _some people_ , I don't have commitment issues."

"Oh!" Hermione narrowed her eyes, withdrawing her wand. "You take that back!"

Draco smirked, turning and walking backwards as he spoke. "Make me."

With swiftness, Hermione swished her wand, and Draco's legs buckled out from under him, sending him backwards on his arse. "Ah!" His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "That's the way you want to play it, is it?" He scuffled to his feet and in a flourish of movements sent an entire puddle's worth of water careening in her direction. It splashed over her like a tidal wave.

"Oh!"

"Is that all you can say? Oh?"

"That's it!" She sent and hit her target with a stinging hex, making him wince and clutch his shoulder in pain.

"OWWW. That  _hurt!_ "

"Good!"

He shot a bat bogey hex at her, but she blocked it quickly. "Is that the best you've got, Malfoy?"

"I'm just getting warmed up, Granger."

Spell after spell, hex after hex - they flung them at one another, both deflecting and maneuvering with skill and precision.

" _Bombarda_!"

" _Repello_!" The spell bounced off of Draco's shield and exploded a nearby trash can. "Salazar's tits, are you trying to kill me?"

More spells. More hexes. Hermione dodged a nasty puffy-face hex and sent a frizzy hair charm in his direction. The spark of the spell zapped Draco's hair follicles and sent them ridged right before the rain washed it back down his scalp again.

"Oh, you're asking for it now, witch. Nobody messes with my hair!"

He began to bombard her with spell after spell. Hermione sent up a shield, but the sheer force of each spell that hit made her scoot across the road. Not even the friction of her shoes could stop it from happening. Before she knew it, she'd been pressed against the edge of the fountain. Her knees buckled slightly as the concrete hit the back of her legs, but she stood her ground.

"You're going to knock me into the fountain!" she shouted.

"What difference does it make? You're already wet!" He sent an  _expelliarmus_  her way. It was just enough oompfh to cause her legs to bend completely. She gasped, her shield dissolving. The fall felt like slow motion - or maybe it was that way because as she fell, she suddenly felt a cushion of warmth envelop her head and arms. No, it wasn't slow motion, she realized. It was a cushioning charm holding her mid-fall.

Draco strolled up to her, his shoulder swollen.

"Why...why didn't you just let me fall?" she asked.

"Because, you stupid Gryffindor - whether or not you love me, I love you, and I wouldn't let any real harm come to you." He offered out his hand for her to take. "That's what love is. It's putting someone else above your own selfish happiness because their happiness makes you happy - and believe me, it would bring me immense joy to let you fall right now. It's wanting to take care of someone, even if they make you furious beyond all reason." He waited, and Hermione pondered over his words. What he said - it resounded within her. "Well? Are you going to take my hand or-"

"I love you, too," she whispered as rain slapped against her face. She hoped it wouldn't drown out her words - the look on Draco's face was hard to tell…

"Really?" He quirked an eyebrow.

"I…" Timidly, she nodded. She took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. She let herself lean against his chest, and then her arms wrapped around him and trapped him in a vice-like hug that he couldn't escape from. "I love you, Draco."

A soft chuckle was his reply, followed by, "If I had known duelling you would get you to say it, I would have started with that."

"Don't start."

He shrugged against her. "What made you...you're not just saying it to appease me, are you?"

"Like I would want to inflate that ego of yours," she quipped, untucking her face from his chest to look up at him. "I don't know. I just...what you said. About love. It's how I feel about you. And if that's what love is...I don't want to miss out on it." She glanced at his shoulder. "Sorry about that."

"As you should be. I'll need medical attention. Perhaps an attractive healer in short robes…"

She swatted him in the stung shoulder, making him wince.

"Don't push it, Draco."

"Pushing your buttons has always been a hobby of mine - I don't plan on stopping anytime soon." He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "I'm sorry about your parents. But they aren't us. And we've gone through too much to throw this away. You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not."

"Promise?" she half laughed, half cried.

"I'm willing to bet a dance studio on it." He winked.

"Are you willing to bet a cold on it!?" said a voice from behind them. They both turned to see George Weasley standing near the entrance to Diagon, his wand used as an umbrella with a simple spell. "Because that's what the two of you will be getting if you don't get inside where it's warm!"

"You're starting to sound like Molly!" Hermione called back to him.

George shrugged, grinning. "My mum's a wise woman - even I'd be daft to ignore that. Now come along! We've work to do!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Do you see what she did to my shoulder?"

"Nobody cares, Malfoy. Nobody cares."

* * *

**Would love to hear your thoughts!**   
**~A.**


End file.
